


Miss Black and the Social Network

by LilacFree



Series: Miss Black [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Gen, Minor Character Death, Swearing, The Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:01:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24330991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacFree/pseuds/LilacFree
Summary: Now that Miss Arrakis Black is being reintroduced into the wizard world, she must find allies where she can and grow up faster than a girl her age should.  She must go among her peers and into places where enemies may lie in wait.  She can make time for ballet and Quidditch, but the mistakes she makes mean more than the mistakes of an ordinary girl.  She has left behind the name of Harriet Daisy Potter, but not the destiny of the Girl Who Lived.  Who is not the Boy Who Lived, who got that one wrong?
Series: Miss Black [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625731
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been Brit-picked and any remaining mistakes are mine, all mine, bwhahaha.... ahem. Thanks to ClaireBHypno for the assist. I found her on the charming Facebook group 'The League of Extraordinary British Betas' where the natives genteelly welcome those who attempt to produce fanfic in the Queen's English.

In her nightmares, Arrakis Black was back at Hogwarts, standing before the Mirror of Erised as Quirrell burned under her hands. His eyes melted between her fingers. The memories would creep up as she lay in bed trying to fall asleep. It helped that 12 Grimmauld Place had been her fortress ever since she could remember. The house was not a kind house, but it held on to its secrets and she trusted it would hold onto hers.

Aunt Lucretia had plenty of tasks to fill up the first two weeks of the summer holidays. They went to the dressmaker to get her measurements taken and her wardrobe updated, to the shoemaker for new shoes, and to the hairdresser to have her hair tamed. Miss Bangs, despite the name, wore her hair in a perfect silver bouffant that a casual glance could have mistaken for a helmet. Her personal grooming choice was not reflected in what she did for her clients. Aunt Lucretia’s hair was in a soft iron grey chignon that fit her elegant bearing. Only once had Arrakis seen it down. As a small child, she had been sick in the night and Aunt Lucretia had come to see her. The single long plait of her hair was protected by a sheer silk bag.

For all the years that Arrakis had been coming to see Miss Bangs, the woman had concocted various treatments to persuade Arrakis’ rebellious hair to behave like that of a gently bred young lady. Perhaps all along her hair had been playing Quidditch. Miss Bangs told them, “I imported an emollient from Japan with Miss Black in mind. It came highly recommended.”

It worked. It actually worked. Her hair was still wavy, but the waves were silken ripples instead of bristles and tangles. She sat in the chair staring with wonder as Miss Bangs experimented with simple styles under Aunt Lucretia’s watchful eye. A little smile curved the hairdresser’s mouth as she swept Arrakis’ hair back from the scarred side of her face and pinned it with a comb decorated in abalone inlay.

“Oh, I like that. May I leave it in, Aunt Lucretia?” Arrakis turned her head a la Draco Malfoy to see the light gleam over her hair.

“You may. But you must practise putting it in yourself.”

“It is charmed to stay up,” Miss Bangs told her, “but there is an art to gathering your hair up correctly and inserting the comb.”

Arrakis practised hair arranging under the exacting eyes of her instructors. It was like school, but unlike Hogwarts this feminine space felt cosy and safe. Once her hair had been dealt with, she and Aunt Lucretia spent the afternoon being pampered. The hardest thing in leaving Hogwarts had been losing the freedom of her wand. At home she could still use Elladora Black’s wand if she needed it, but the idea felt like disloyalty to the holly wand that had chosen her at Ollivanders. Here witches skilled in the secret arts of beauty tended them. Arrakis was gently chided to take care of her skin to avoid spots (for which they sold a sure-fire preventative ointment) and the whiteness of her teeth (they recommended a powder made from pearls and dragon milk, reasonably priced, considering).

“I’ve never had a spot,” Arrakis protested.

The women exchanged the kind of glances she’d often seen women do, hinting at secret knowledge denied children. “I suppose she is quite old enough,” Aunt Lucretia sighed ominously.

That evening Aunt Lucretia summoned Arrakis to her bedroom. Sitting on the pouf before Lucretia’s vanity, Arrakis paged through a book titled ‘The Witch’s Course’. The cover featured a witch with her wand raised. Her upright body bisected a crescent moon, the horns up, and the tip of her wand pointed at a star.

It was the sex talk. Arrakis hoped that her flustered blushing hid that she’d previous knowledge of some of what she was told. In her Muggle dance classes, the instructors had spoken of the changes that would start happening to their bodies and how it would impact their work. True, they had mostly focused on the development of their bone structure. Aunt Lucretia seemed to think she didn’t know anything at all. How could that be when girls talked all the time and with terrifying frankness? Pansy Parkinson already got her periods. It was impossible not to know it, because she made sure they all knew it. She didn’t ever say the word, just hinted, “I don’t feel quite well today, you know,” and Tracey and Daphne would looked awed and sympathetic, and the female prefects would check on her.

Gwendolyn Barfield, on the other hand, would announce, “I’m on the rag. Stay out of my way.” People did. Barfield had the longest nails at Hogwarts.

“Read that book twice through, and if you have any questions, come to me.” She leaned forward and fixed Arrakis with a sharp look. “A small blush is charming. A tomato is ridiculous. You need to accept and understand your physical nature or your ignorance will be used against you. There is ancient magic associated with sex. It is exceptionally likely to go wrong but can be powerful. Your mother used magic of this nature to protect you.”

Arrakis clutched at the book, and murmured, “Yes, Aunt Lucretia.” She was allowed to escape back to her bedroom.

It was a very interesting book, less because of the printed text — or the illustrations — and more from the commentary added by various females. Being familiar with the family tree, and noting the publishing date of the book, she was able to figure out that most of them were from the three sisters Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa. 

Arrakis had thought herself well acquainted with her body — the flexibility of her joints, the muscles and tendons — but now she had softer flesh to consider. There were places that had alarming pudginess to her prodding fingers, and wisps of hair starting to grow.

She kicked the book under her bed and put on her leotard to work out.

It was getting a little tight.

Later that week, Grimmauld Place hosted a family luncheon. When he stepped out of the Floo, Arrakis wasn’t surprised to see Sirius and submitted to being hugged. It had felt good that dreadful day, but she wasn’t used to being around someone so tactile. She took a step back from him only to have someone roll out of the fireplace and bump into her legs. Arrakis had been trained how to fall safely; she bent at the knees and tucked her chin against her chest.

Tonks sat up and sneezed. “I’m so sorry! I’m pants at Flooing.”

Arrakis rocked to her feet again. “It’s okay. I’m so glad to see you.”

“The two of you should move. We’re still expecting your mum, Tonks,” Sirius said, offering Tonks a hand. He removed the Floo dust with a quick wand wave over the three of them.

Next a lady stepped through the Floo. She managed to do it as sedately as walking through a door. The only trace was a smut on her sleeve which she deftly removed. “Good afternoon, Sirius. Nymphadora, sweetheart, how did your Floo go?” She was on the tall side of average. Worn in a sensible side-parted bob, her wavy brown hair was streaked with silver like tiny comet trails.

“I somersaulted out and bowled down Arrakis,” Tonks admitted with resigned ruefulness. “And it’s Tonks, mum.”

“Cousin Andromeda, this is my god-daughter, Arrakis Black. Arrakis, your cousin Andromeda. I like to call her Andy. Tonks you know.” Sirius was still uncomfortable with her changed name, but tried hard to make it sound natural.

Andromeda smiled at her. “I look forward to getting to know you better.” She looked around the room. Her smile dimmed. “Let us not keep Mrs. Prewett waiting.”

Aunt Lucretia was waiting in the sitting room, where the meal had already been laid out. She rose as they entered, but waited for them to come greet her. The curtains had been drawn back but the net curtains left down, allowing diffuse sunlight into the room. Arrakis could catch the family resemblance between Lucretia, Sirius, and Andromeda as it mirrored in Tonk’s face: grey eyes, graceful bone structure, aquiline nose, a thin but shapely mouth.

Kreacher popped in a couple of times to remove dirty plates. Normally he would do this unnoticed, but no one could overlook the glares he and Sirius gave each other. Arrakis was so distracted by this that she let her attention slip from the conversation.

“Me having a dowry makes me feel like I woke up another person instead of just looking like another person.”

“You can live off the income as Cassiopeia did. You needn’t wait to be married to benefit. Of course, I hope you will choose to do so. You are obviously gifted with the family talents. The dowry is a fine old custom meant to pass on family protection to a bride. I only ever used the income from mine for pin-money. Prewett provided for me always.”

“I scarcely expected to see my dower vault untouched,” Andromeda said quietly. “Even to the dinner service. All those platinum ‘M’s…”

Lucretia raised an eyebrow. “Narcissa, accept a hand-me-down dower gift? She has a better sense of her worth than that.”

“I’m actually glad Kreacher still hates me. Otherwise I’d worry I’d dreamt my whole upbringing,” Sirius chuckled. His mouth curved widely, but he nursed his cup of tea like it was something stronger.

“Mrs. Prewett—”

“Andromeda, please call me Lucretia. We are cousins, we are family. We always have been. Despite how your father and Sirius’ mother treated you, only my father had the authority to cast you from the family and he chose not to do so.” 

“Lucretia, I do not understand why. It troubles me. The tapestry—”

“Let us retire to the library. It is not a congenial topic for the table.”

Lucretia took Sirius’ arm. As they passed a closed door on their way to the library, Sirius paused. “Why not the drawing room? It’s—”

“It’s closed up. I would prefer it remain that way for now, if you would indulge me, Sirius.” She stood tall, her face pinched, but her voice calm and polite.

“As you wish,” he replied, trying not to frown as he turned away from the door. Tonks looked over her shoulder at Arrakis and made her eyes huge. She glanced at the drawing room door with a cocked eyebrow.

Arrakis lifted a hand trying to express lack of knowledge without a vulgar shrug. And to not grin at Tonks, who was walking sideways with the forward hand fanning the air trying to avoid bumping anyone in their silent exchange. As youngest, Arrakis brought up the rear. The drawing room door had been locked as long as she could remember. There were many locks in Grimmauld Place. Some of the strongest of them were in the library.

Lucretia chose a big armchair. The others sat in a rough semi-circle before her, except for Arrakis, who knelt at her aunt’s feet.

“I am not privy to all the secrets Father kept. I do not doubt that some went to the tomb with him. But I hope those in this room should not be surprised that he arranged for Sirius to be released from prison and be exonerated. He used his own death to protect the family.”

“Even dead, he couldn’t resist using me as a pawn,” Sirius said, his lips curling away from his teeth.

“We do not need to have the family tree before us to see how we have dwindled. The strength of a family is in people, not vaults, nor politics. What meaning has ‘toujours pur’ as a banner for the dead and the mad? Your mother, Sirius, was beyond proud that she bore two fine young wizards to carry the family name into the future. Regulus’ death undid her. Yet it was her mania for the family that gave her the idea of taking in the orphaned Potter child.” She gently tugged a lock of Arrakis’ hair. “And her lunatic insight sent her to me, knowing I would jump at the chance to raise a daughter.

“Father took up her plan and made more of it. ‘Toujours pur’—pure Black, always, Black. Your brother renounced,” she took a deep breath, “Voldemort. And died anyway. Regulus’ decision, and the Dark Lord’s folly in hunting down a child to murder, were all that Father needed to pledge the Black family to the cause of Harriet Potter. He wanted to lay a foundation for the future.”

“He realigned assets. Bellatrix is out; I’m in.” Andromeda steepled her fingers.

Sirius protested, “You don’t have to play his game, Andy. As far as I’m concerned, you should have always had that money without any nonsense about an arranged marriage.”

“There are no stipulations on those bequests, Sirius. They were given free and clear. Mr. Stroud guaranteed it himself as the executor. Under seal.”

Sirius slumped in his chair, his brows drawn together.

Andromeda continued, “And done on the quiet, in the voices of the dead. He even got to my father. I wish I knew how. He may have done as Arcturus wished, but he did not forgive me. I have received these inheritances unheralded.”

“Father didn’t want forces that might be opposed to his aims alerted.”

Tonks said, “It looks to the Ministry as if the will was written with the assumption that Sirius Black was guilty, and would die in prison, but declared him heir as if he was innocent. People tended to put the worst light on it that Arcturus was supporting his ‘crimes’.” She wriggled her fingers in air quotes and Lucretia gave her a look of disquieted hauteur. Tonks promptly sat on her hands.

“So how did Grandfather know I didn’t commit the crimes that sent me to Azkaban? Besides me, the only one who knew the truth of it all is that thrice-cursed filthy traitor, Pettigrew.” Sirius bit out the words. His hands clenched on the chair arms and the whites showed around his irises. “They’ve declared me innocent but they still claim he’s dead?”

“Presumed dead, Sirius,” Tonks said.

Arrakis stared up at him. The goofy, chip-eating, movie-going godfather was nowhere to be seen.

Andromeda said firmly, “I want to know as well, Lucretia. Pettigrew is in the wind, free to act as You-Know-Who’s agent. Does Pettigrew have any living family?”

Sirius’ lids drooped. “He was an only child. His father died before he went to Hogwarts, and his mother passed away two years ago. He never spoke of any distant relatives.”

Lucretia toyed with the reticule that had been dangling from her wrist. Arrakis saw the motion and was certain that she had a potion vial waiting. She nudged her cheek against her aunt’s knee and received a caress of her hair. Otherwise, she remained silent, listening to the adults, watching the adults.

“You’ve been using a Pensieve. Doing a little investigating?” Tonks’ eyes took on a feline cast.

“And what if I have? Pettigrew is a threat. I’ve been watching my memories, trying to find out when he changed. What he might have given away when he was still new to being an enemy.” He passed a hand over his face.

Andromeda said gently, “Sirius, you are no longer a boy estranged from your family. You have a position of power when you are able to take it up. You have more resources than you had as an angry young man, grief-stricken and betrayed. Let me help you.”

He moved a finger so that one bright eye glittered from behind his hand. Arrakis shuddered and turned her face against Lucretia’s knee until she recovered. Lucretia petted her head.

Sirius taunted, “I thought you said there were no conditions attached to your inheritance.”

“I could remain estranged from the family, but I don’t want to. Despite my quarrel with my parents and others, despite the adherence to blood-purity that I broke with, there is still much to be proud of in our family. Witches and wizards of the Black family have done great things. I want to claim that heritage for myself, my daughter, and any children she may have. The Blacks are more than a motto they adopted centuries ago. We are older than that.”

“’Toujours Noir’. That’s so much more bad-ass.” Tonks’ hair blackened, swept over her shoulders in swathes of satiny locks.

“So much more impressive to the snobs at the Ministry,” Sirius added. The snip in his voice relaxed, “That’s enough, Rapunzel.”

“It’s heavy,” Tonks admitted, and shrank her new mane to a more manageable length. She made it curly instead, increasing the family likeness. “Yeah, being accepted back into the family will look good to certain stuffy types at the Ministry. But it’s not like I’m going to stop being me.”

“Sirius, what about the other friend in your little group? Lupin, wasn’t it?” Andromeda asked.

Lucretia removed the vial from her reticule and took a sip.

“I haven’t been able to find him. It could be that he doesn’t want me to find him. Even if he heard I was cleared of all charges and freed from Azkaban, he must have realised that James and I had doubts about him.” He shook his head. “What fools we were. Or maybe he betrayed us too and has hidden himself away.”

“Speaking of aligning our resources, and of old friends, do you have pictures of Arrakis’ parents? All we were able to show Arrakis were publicly available photographs.”

“I had one at my flat, but everything in it was boxed up and stored somewhere in the Ministry, buried under a mountain of forms. There should have been albums at the Godric’s Hollow house.” 

“I would like to go there.” There, she said it. Arrakis had thought about it off and on all year at Hogwarts. Where her parents had walked, where they had met. Where they had lived. Maybe they were present there more than in their graves. But she should go. It was what one did; besides, she wanted to go.

Sirius trembled like trifle. “Anything you want, kiddo. I should visit them too.” He covered his eyes with his hand.

Lucretia stroked her thumb over Arrakis’ cheek. “I will ask Mr. Stroud about your parents’ property. If the contents of the house were stored away, doubtless there is paperwork required to access them: a mountain, as Sirius says. Every head of a Ministry office is a petty tyrant.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrakis and Sirius visit Godric's Hollow. Narcissa and Draco Malfoy visit Grimmauld place to invite Arrakis to be weighed and measured by wizarding high society. The Black family moves out of the city to Black Manor, that had been left uninhabited for years. Are there as many secrets there as there were at 12 Grimmauld Place?

It was a warm day to be wearing a full robe. Sirius cast a cooling charm on her. It was only the two of them at Godric’s Hollow. From start to finish, it felt as unreal as a dream that she knew she was dreaming. The statue of father, mother, and baby portrayed them together as if she had died too. Perhaps she had, Harriet Daisy Potter, as Arrakis had once said to Professor Dumbledore. The house itself was nightmarish, an Inferius of a house. By the time they found the grave site, Arrakis felt worn through. She found herself holding Sirius’ hand; they both gripped hard for that living pressure.

“The flowers, please?”

Sirius unshrank the package without comment and handed over a wreath of green fern and white poppies.

Arrakis laid it between the stones.

Sirius drew a deep wet breath.

She looked at the engraved names of her parents. “I thought I would want to say something to them, but it doesn’t feel like they’re here. In life, they never were. I feel them more at Hogwarts. Where I walk, they walked. Some of the teachers that taught them, teach me.”

“Ah, kiddo, you’re growing up too fast.” Sirius put his arm behind her and cupped her shoulder. “You’re right, though.”

“Sirius. Don’t go looking for him. For enemies. Not yet.”

His hand dropped away. “We can’t wait for them to come to us.”

“I understand what you’re saying. It’s just… I’m worried about Aunt Lucretia. I know she’s ill. And so many of the family have died, died young for wizards. Don’t go away.”

“Don’t repeat my mistake, you mean. It seems to have turned out well enough for you. I still can’t picture my mother and grandfather changing their ways for a baby, not even one as cute as you were. Lily barely laid you down to sleep at first. She rocked you in her arms and James would come up behind her, lay his cheek against her hair and wrap his arms around you both. I would have gladly died to keep that whole.”

Tears trailed hot and sticky down her face.

“If I hadn’t run off in a frenzy, I could have been there to hold you like that. You should have had that. I won’t say Lucretia doesn’t love you, but you should have been cherished. Aguamenti.”

Sirius applied a damp handkerchief to her face. “I thought it had all gone wrong when I found them dead. That was only mostly wrong. I finished it off. I ran away looking for revenge, and I failed to catch or kill that traitor. I got blamed for his crimes. And when they came for me, the aurors, I knew how badly I failed. I told them it was all my fault. Perhaps I was mad. I thought I deserved to be in Azkaban, until I actually got there. Blow.”

She blew her nose into the handkerchief.

“It’s how I survived, you know. All that time to think of how everything I did made things worse. I was innocent of murder and treachery and guilty of everything else. The dementors couldn’t make me feel worse. Now I’m here with you but I still think those things.”

Arrakis sniffled back the rest of her tears. She didn’t want to get snot all over them both. She hugged him tight.

He squeezed back and they stood there until it got too hot and uncomfortable.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“He said he loved me. That it was the answer to why he did what he did. Great-grandfather.”

“If it was anyone but you saying that, I would not believe it.” He grinned at her. “There was another way I survived Azkaban. I’m saving it for a surprise. Hold on tight now.” He apparated them away. The wreath lay deep green and snow white on the grey stone.

“I’ve looked forward to meeting you, Miss Oyunskaya. I know Arrakis admires you very much.” Sirius was getting better at saying her name.

“It’s difficult to be worthy of a child’s admiration. They trust so deeply.” Oyunskaya was smiling, but Sirius blinked, his smile faltering.

“I wanted to build her a ballet studio at Black Manor. Could I impose on you to come down and offer advice?”

Arrakis perked up.

“It is no imposition, so long as you take it.”

Sirius grinned and made arrangements with her.

“I will approve the selection of my room. It should be close to Arrakis so that I may serve as her chaperon.”

“You are welcome, of course, but she is just a child.”

“All the more importance to safeguard her reputation. Don’t make such a big fuss. It protects you as well, after all.”

Sirius sputtered, and Oyunskaya stuck a biscuit in his mouth.

“The rules are different for females, Mr. Black. That’s still true even in this modern age.”

“Please, call me Sirius.”

“I think not, Mr. Black. I feel a formal tone will be best for the foreseeable future. If you will bear with it, perhaps you will come to agree with me that it is effective.”

“Ballet is a formal art, Uncle Sirius.” Arrakis touched his arm. “May we talk now about whom to invite to visit us there? Aunt Lucretia has invited Mrs. Malfoy and her son to tea. I expect they will want to invite me to Malfoy Manor in return.”

Sirius winced. “I don’t even know what to say about Malfoy in front of you. That’s the problem with pure-bloods. Everyone’s family and if you try to cut out someone you don’t like, someone you do like takes offence.”

All Arrakis had to do was to be looked at by Narcissa Malfoy to know that her dress was hopelessly old-fashioned. She had assumed it was anyway, but now she felt as though the fabric itself wanted to slink back into a trunk. It was pretty sprigged muslin with a dropped waist, a row of ruffles at the hem and the occasional peep of her lace trimmed petticoat. It had been Lucretia’s as a girl, except for the green satin ribbon threaded through the lace collar to match the wearer’s eyes. ‘Vintage’, Lucretia had called it. Arrakis clung to that thought.

“Arrakis, dear, please show your cousin Draco around the house. Come join us in an hour.”

Draco wore a cream linen suit with a pale green shirt. She’d have traded in a heartbeat. “Of course, Aunt Lucretia. Come, cousin.” She smiled at Draco and led him deeper into the house.The first stop was at Mother Black’s portrait. “Good afternoon, Mother Black. I’d like to present my cousin Draco Malfoy. He and his mother are calling on us today.”

“Ah, Narcissa’s son. You have a look of your dear mother. Such a perfect lady. Welcome to Grimmauld Place.”

Draco made a little bow. “It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Black.”

The house seemed smaller when she was showing it to Draco. The upper floor had a small balcony overlooking the back garden. Though the summer air was steamy from earlier rain, she breathed it in deep.

“I see what you mean about having no place to fly. You could barely turn out there.” Draco looked down. The garden had a tendency to go feral and vines had to be regularly cut away from the house. Draco didn’t mention its unruly state.

“You’ve arrived at a good time to see the roses. They’re a variety called ‘Black Magic’. I suppose at Malfoy Manor you have far more impressive gardens.”

“Indeed, we do. Perhaps you will see them soon if mother has her way. Now, cousin, there was a room I expected to see that you did not show me.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “And that would be…”

“Your dance room. I’m not sure what to call it.”

“The dance studio. It’s rather dull to look at.” It was on the upper floor, too, though she hadn’t planned to show it. The balcony had seemed the natural climax to the tour. She led him through the door and made her reverence to the floor. He watched her reflection in the mirror that took up a whole wall. “Is it what you expected?”

“I wasn’t sure what to expect. It’s… stark.” There was nothing in the studio but the floor, the mirrored wall, the barre, a simple chandelier for light, the north window at the end of the house, and a music box.

“There’s plenty of room to make mistakes in.” She added, “I’d wish for a piano, but I can’t play and dance at the same time.”

“Wouldn’t an enchanted piano do as well?”

“It would be the same as the music box. Having a musician playing live feels different. We should go down for tea; they will be expecting us.”

“Of course. But first, I’ve a complaint to make of you, cousin. You didn’t come to my party. I thought we’d promised to attend each other’s birthdays.”

“But… isn’t your birthday during term? I remember you getting a big package at breakfast.”

Draco laughed. “Of course! My parents wouldn’t let the day itself go by unmarked, but because of timing they threw me a party soon after I came home. I asked them to invite you, but Mother said Mrs. Prewett refused on your behalf.”

“I’m sorry. I suppose she wanted me kept close to home to be sure I’d recovered from…being ill.” Arrakis increased her pace. Her hair flounced on her shoulders with each step down the stairs. She’d taken a couple of doses of Dreamless Sleep that first week, but she couldn’t sleep away the guilt she still felt.

“—of course, we cannot make any firm plans until we have a better idea of the progress Sirius is making at Black Manor. I quite agree that it is high time Arrakis got to spend time with other young witches and wizards in a social context.”

“I have been thinking that perhaps I could invite all the Slytherin girls of my year to have ice cream. I would like to see them outside Hogwarts.”

Narcissa smiled. “I’ve been speaking with your aunt about an outdoor party I am planning for a number of Draco’s classmates and their brothers and sisters. There will be a variety of sporting activities during the day, and in the evening, Lucius is looking forward to showing off some improvements he’s made to the gardens with a little music and dancing after supper. I would be very pleased if you would join us.”

“As would I,” chimed in Draco.

“I will be glad to do so. I’m sure I will enjoy it very much. Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Malfoy.”

Arrakis paid attention to Lucretia, who listened with complaisance — which meant that she and Narcissa had arranged it between them already.

She spent much of the next week with Oyunskaya, working on every element of ballet. From the first steps taught to little children, Arrakis danced everything she had learnt, including ballroom dances. Then Madame herself took to the floor and demonstrated more advanced pointe work. Arrakis was told to sit by the door, and watch without speaking or moving. Oh, but she had questions. Now that she wasn’t moving herself, she could sense magic at work.

She ended in a full ballet curtsy that made Arrakis long to applaud. “Completum,” Madame said. She looked over at Arrakis and smiled impishly. “I will not satisfy your curiosity. There is much work to be done, if it can be done at all. If not, well, practice is never a waste of time.”

“When will you know?”

“I will know when I know. You will know when I choose to tell you, otrod’ye.” When Madame got all Russian she would not relent.

As Aunt Lucretia declared herself disinclined to Apparate, Portkey, or Floo, they took the Rolls down to Black Manor which was somewhere in Kent. The same smiling young witch who had accompanied Arrakis to Hogwarts sat up front with the driver, leaving the family in the back. Arrakis was wearing a new outfit in which she could have almost passed for a Muggle—albeit a Muggle who wore every stitch bespoke. Her trousers were sage green linen of a modest cut; her top an ivory silk shell with cap sleeves. In deference to Lucretia, she wore a long sleeveless jacket in matching linen. Instead of trainers she wore classic brogues. In her trunk were more casual and daring items that Oyunskaya had helped her to select and that Lucretia could hardly bear to look at. “It will end up with universal nudity, and the end of civilisation. Clothing, dear child, is a boon to mankind.” She refused to take any interest in casual clothes shopping.

The Rolls turned onto a small paved road and came to a stop under the shade of two holm oaks. On the far side of the trees was a stone wall. Lucretia got out of the automobile and gestured for Arrakis to join her. Together, they walked to the wall.

“Hold out your hand,” she directed. She held out hers as well, and with a slash of her wand opened up a shallow cut on their palms. Lucretia pressed her palm to the stone. “Another Black enters here.”

Arrakis copied the action. “I am Arrakis Marguerite Black and I claim the right to enter here.”

The stone turned to a grey mist. The Rolls drove through and they reentered it on the other side of the wall. Beyond, the road was no longer tarmac but stone slabs. The automobile moved smoothly across it under the branches of the oak tree border. The long curve of the road began to rise. When they crested the hill, Black Manor became visible, loftily crowning a hill beyond a broad blue lake. They were approaching a bridge that would do justice to any castle. It gave entry to the environs of the manor house between two stone towers.

“These are from the castle that once stood here. But when castles became less defensible for Muggles, we wizarding folk abandoned that style and built our great houses to suit ourselves.”

They crossed the bridge. Between the towers was a wrought iron arch upon which was a badge that Arrakis hadn’t seen before. “A hound sable to sinister, rampant guardant. I have not seen it before in the family documents. It is associated with the property?”

“It is a gytrash, a badge of the part of the family that built the property. It reverted to the control of the main family when that line became extinct. Ah, here is Sirius to greet us. Open the door, child, it is close in here.”

Arrakis got out, leaving Oyunskaya to help Lucretia exit. The eyes in the back of her head saw Lucretia resort to her potion.

Sirius grinned at her and waved an arm at the big house as if he’d built it that morning himself. “It will be a little longer to fix up all this old pile, but I managed to make some rooms I think will suit miladies’ refined tastes.”

“It’s so big. Does it have ghosts, like Hogwarts?” Arrakis looked over towards the most ruined wing of the house, which with its dark windows and dilapidated masonry looked ready for a haunting.

“There is one ghost, but he’s shy and doesn’t speak. I’ve only seen him once, over in the stable area. He’s a young man, with blond curly hair and should be the only person of that description around when no one but family is here. Don’t go into any ruined looking areas. I haven’t finished putting up barriers. Let’s get everyone settled in and then I will give you a tour.” Sirius bounced on his toes.

“The east wing has been uninhabitable for well over a century. There was some kind of dispute in the family about how to fix it up again, but no one remembers the root of the disagreement,” Lucretia told them.

“We’ll get to make a brand new disagreement,” Sirius said. His grin got only more wicked with Lucretia’s reproving glance.

Their rooms were all on the south side of the first floor corridor. Arrakis and Madame Oyunskaya had adjoining rooms. Their trunks had been brought up and all their clothes put away before they first opened the doors—a sure sign of house elves at work.

Her bedroom was done up in soft blues and greens. The outside wall had a wide window seat framed with net curtains tucked behind curtain hold-backs tipped with silver birds. The wall itself was painted with a mural that copied the view outside so that if as a cloud went by, it moved from the wall to be visible out the window, then on the rest of the wall.

“It’s lovely, Sirius. Was it like this before?”

“Nope, kiddo. Just for you.” He nudged her shoulder. “Ahem.” He jerked his chin at the bed. On it was a long package in gold with a giant red bow. That she had missed it on first glance into the room showed how much she was entranced by her windowed mural wall.

She knew what it was. She glanced sidelong at him. “Custom shoe rack? Really tall hat? Folding screen that’s a portal to another world?”

Sirius groaned. “Just open it.”

She laughed and handed him one end of the ribbon to hold whilst she pulled the other. The bow unravelled in a spiral of crimson and the box unfolded itself to reveal a broomstick. It had the name Nimbus on the side, but no model # and it didn’t look like any broom in their catalogue.

“I had it customised for you. It’s based off their ‘2001’ model that’s coming out this summer.” Sirius beamed at her hopefully.

The broom itself was lacquered near black, with silver racing stripes down the shaft. She picked it up, and at her grip lighting bolts forked down its length. It was bold and ridiculous and over the top and she loved it. She burst into giggles and Sirius grinned like he’d been awarded a ‘Dad’ of the year award. “I’d better be good riding a broom like this, or I will look silly, won’t I?”

“I believe in you, kiddo. Ready to try it out?”

“This afternoon. Aunt Lucretia will take a nap after lunch.”

He winked and slipped out.

At one side of the room was a four poster bed with a canopy suspended tent-like from the ceiling. The flooring was golden oak with blue-green-cream area rugs. The inside wall looked like an ancient tapestry. She closed the door, and the back of it blended into the tableau of the whole, as it was situated to look like the door into the tower on the tapestry. Arrakis put out her hand to open the door again, and stopped, caught in the idea that she would open it up and beyond would be the interior of the mysterious tower. Was this wall new or only restored? The wall behind the bed was a neutral colour that matched the background of the tapestry wall. The door of the en-suite was painted to match, and only distinguishable by a door knob on a plate of lacy metal.

The other wall was entirely taken up by a combination bookshelf/wardrobe/vanity/desk. One door of the wardrobe had a full length mirror on the inside. She posed in front of it. “Doing well, Miss Black?” Her reflection smiled back as a reflection should, but she closed the door firmly again and went to visit Oyunskaya. This time she didn’t pause at the castle door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most important element for this story is the developing relationship between Sirius and Arrakis. Snape gets more attention because his role is central to the main plot, but Sirius is an interesting character. In canon, despite all his talent and ability, Sirius is unsuccessful. He cannot protect Harry or himself. He can't tame his recklessness. He may escape Azkaban but he remains a prisoner. He dies without his name being cleared. There's endless material to be drawn from his relationship with Snape that probably won't fit into this fic as it is told fairly strictly from Arrakis' point of view. I have ideas for where he will end up, but no definite plans except to offer him a happier journey.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrakis finds out what flying it all about now that she has her own custom Nimbus. The family talks about who to invite to visit to Black Manor. Maybe Hermione will be up for short exchange student program.

Sirius took her down to the lake for flight practice. Alone, he flew the pattern of a box. His wand trailed lines of light behind him. The surface of the lake picked up the glowing lines. He looked down at her. “Are you going to fly today, kiddo?” 

“Up!” The broom smacked into her hand and she was ready, swinging aboard and pulling up swiftly to join him.

“Smooth. All right, I want you to fly within this box. This is for you to get the hang of a high class broom. It’s nothing like those worn school brooms Madame Hooch has to teach with. I’ll stand by in case you get a little too crazy.”

Arrakis looked at the box around her. This was another kind of dance studio. She knew how to start — the reverence — a single graceful swoop. Next were the exercises Madame Hooch had taught. So easy now, and so easy to go too far and too fast. She let herself feel how the broom could do more, and how she controlled it. Here was the space of the dance and now she would improvise. Barrel rolls: once, feel the move around her core; twice without stopping coming up exactly where she started; three times the sideways roll then up and back into a vertical roll. She experimented with flinging her arm out to slow down a roll and felt how the change of grip affected the broom’s stability.

“I wish the fellow at Nimbus who certified your broom could see you put it through its paces.” Sirius soared up to her level. “Ready to fly out of the box?”

“It was really useful. Thanks.”

He smiled. “You’re welcome. Now, about the lake… well, come look.” He flew past her and she twisted into an arc and a swoop that had her trailing a half broom-length to his left. He let her catch up to him so that they were gliding along at an easy pace that allowed them to talk.

“This is not Black Lake. Surprising, no? It’s called Gwedermere. There’s a story attached to it that if you look into your reflection in it, it looks into you. There’s no more to the story than that; it is so old it isn’t even a ghost of the legend it was. Don’t primp in it. Don’t be afraid to swim in it. Don’t scare the fish.”

She laughed. “I thought you were going to tell me it was like the lake at Hogwarts, with merfolk and a giant squid. How come that lake is named Black Lake?”

“It’s nothing to do with our family. There are lots of bodies of water with that name. There are even cities named after them such as Blackpool or Dublin. And like Dublin, ‘Gwedermere’ is the corrupted version of the ancient original name, whatever it was.”

Arrakis thought about the tapestry wall in her room, but decided not to ask. She was here to fly; she let the swift thing under her start to loft into the sky it was made for.

“Not so fast!” Sirius hastily cast a spell on her. “That’s just to help me find you if you take a splash. How about some speed drills? See how fast you can circle the lake.”

Oh, yes. She launched at full speed towards the end of the lake. The turn was bungled though; she had to wrestle the broom around while she clung with arms and legs to stay on. Sirius nearly laughed himself off his broom. On the short end, she lay tight along the broomstick and tried to work the turn with the bend of her body. She clung well with her upper body but one leg got flung free. So graceful, Arrashka, da?

The flopping leg created drag she could feel. It made it harder to keep the broom straight. Which was fine for a turn.

With Sirius coaching her, she began to pick up the subtleties of broomstick flight. After two hours of flying he flew up to meet her. “Time for a break, kiddo. One of us definitely needs it. Come on and see my digs.”

They landed beside the cottage that sat atop a hill. The lake curved around the foot of the hill. There was a stream here, not much more than a trickle, that ran into the lake. On that side of the house was a water wheel that was well above the height of the stream. 

“This used to be some kind of mill, but the stream is rarely high enough to turn it. The mill works are all gone from inside. It’s supposed to be for changing clothes to bathe in the lake, and to host, um, al fresco dining. A bit twee, but pleasant for one.”

The inside of the cottage had an odd chimney. There were three fireplace openings: the lowest for the kitchen, one for the main room, and another for the loft bedroom. Each opening was shaped like a snarling dog’s head. “This is called Cerberus Cottage. Family legend says that people got up to other things than lunch here, but that supposedly happened before it was converted into a mill.“ Otherwise, the inside was done up in ‘posh country’ with lots of chintz and wicker furniture. It was all rather sun-faded.

“It looks cosy, but are you going to stay here and leave us up there? I thought we’d be living with you.”

Sirius turned to her. “Of course I want to be with you. I’m just across the lake…”

They both looked back towards the manor. It wasn’t entirely concealed from view.

Arrakis dropped carefully into a wicker chair. It was rather bristly. “I don’t… I can’t begin to know what Azkaban was like. I don’t know if you need to be alone to get better. But I know we need you.”

It was Sirius’ turn to kneel at her feet. “I love being with you. I can even put up with your dragons.” He laughed at her reproachful look. “That’s respect from me. Here, being here, it feels free.”

She twisted her hands together in her lap. He captured them gently between his. “Watch this,” he said, grinning. The grin stayed, but within a couple of eye blinks it belonged to a great black dog. One paw remained patting at her knee with doggy hopefulness that echoed in the brown eyes. The dog tilted its head making one ear flop.

“You worked that out in front of a mirror, didn’t you? Oh, Uncle Sirius. This helped you, right?”

The dog panted affirmation. She rubbed his head behind the shaggy ears. He heaved a sigh and rested his chin on her knees.

While Arrakis had been advancing her flight skills, Madame Oyunskaya had discovered one reason why Sirius had been able to fix up parts of Black Manor so beautifully in so short a time. He had borrowed house elves from Hogwarts in exchange for a hefty donation to the school. They had done the thorough cleaning that made it possible for architectural wizards to restore the structure and for a decorator to put together their rooms. It was embarrassingly obvious that the most time and effort had been spent on Arrakis’ suite. Madame Oyunskaya’s room was pleasant but obviously a guest bedroom. Lucretia’s room had received the best of the antique furniture and had been decorated in the Edwardian era style she preferred. Other rooms in the wing were unfurnished, their white walls ready to receive the imprint of someone’s taste.

“I found a house-elf polishing the mirror and asked if she worked for the family. Sirius asked for volunteers to do the work here and that it would be a place where ‘The Girl Who Lived’ resided. They seem to be quite enthusiastic.” Oyunskaya had been here before to oversee the setting up of the dance studio. She led Arrakis up to the third floor. Most of the rooms here were empty. Except for cleaning, the work on the third floor had been devoted to the dance studio and the solar.

Though the studio was smaller than the one where Arrakis had taken classes with Muggle girls, it was beautifully appointed. It was a performance space, with places made to hold curtains to create offstage areas, and framework to hold lights. A grand piano slept under a crimson velvet dust blanket trimmed with bullion tassells.

The studio had been set across the width of the wing, with windows on each end. On the far wall, even the double doors leading to the solar were mirrored. An area rug protected the path between the doors.

“If there was a price tag on the moon, it would be hanging from the ceiling,” Oyunskaya said dryly. “Since he was determined you should have everything, I made sure that everything he bought was the right thing and of good quality. I certainly didn’t let him overrule me when it came to the floor. I told him all these details could wait, and he said he’s been waiting ten years.”

“He wants to see me dance. I don’t have anything ready.”

“He would not know better, but you and I and Mrs. Prewett would know.”

“I would know. And maybe he would too. He might not know anything about ballet, but he’s… sensitive.”

“He’s fragile. What we can do to help him be stronger, we must do—as much as he will allow.” Oyunskaya did her reverence to the dance floor, then opened the doors to the solar. Arrakis followed. The solar was only realised in its beautiful form. It spanned more than one floor. In the centre was a great spiral staircase in lacy wrought iron leading all the way down the the ground floor. The third floor space was empty, without even nets on the window. Above, the ceiling rose in a glass cupola to let light in on the conservatory.

They started down the stairs. There were only a few plants. The conservatory was still being renovated. Arrakis’ thoughts drifted to Neville, who was the best of their year at herbology, even over that brain Granger. Grimmauld Place had never been a house for plants. She still wasn’t allowed outside alone in the back garden.

“This is everyone in your year?” Lucretia asked. “It’s… short.” The list didn’t even cover two feet of parchment.

Sirius glowered from his chair. “People my age were worried about starting families with the Death Eaters gaining power. I bet the class below yours is bigger, kiddo.”

Arrakis continued, “I’ve marked the names of those I would like to invite here, but I don’t think they would all get along together. So perhaps we could have some separate visits? I would really like to invite as many Muggleborns as I think might accept. It seems to be the right thing to do to give them a chance to stay in a wizard home and see it’s not all Hogwarts and Diagon Alley.”

“You want to avoid patronising them. This is why you make an effort to speak to everyone in your peer group.” Lucretia secured the parchment to lie straight and flat.

“And if you make invitations, you must be prepared to answer invitations to visit.” Madame Oyunskaya had a Muggle mechanical pencil and notepad.

“Oh, yes,” said Sirius. “I’m far happier about you visiting Muggles than Malfoys.” They’d heard variations of this before.

“You can neither cater to the blood purists nor ignore them. Many of those who would not marry into families that are not pure-blood will associate with them in other ways. The Malfoys were quite cosy with Muggle nobility before the Statue of Secrecy. They enjoyed the status and glamour of appearing at court.”

“I’d like to invite Millicent Bulstrode,” Arrakis said wistfully.

“That will have to be handled family to family. We haven’t had any connections with the Bulstrodes since great-aunt Violetta passed. She was poor dear Cassiopeia’s mama. Cassiopeia often had to babysit me—ah, well, that’s not relevant to the matter.”

Sirius mentioned, “When I knew them, Mortimer Bulstrode fancied himself a rival to Lucius Malfoy, but was nowhere near as adept socially or politically. As far as I can tell he’s still too concerned for his family to openly oppose You-Know-Who. He’s your classmate’s great-uncle. The main family stays pure while the branches marry half-bloods.”

Arrakis twisted her napkin. “I like her. She’s not nice, but she’s solidly herself, and I like that.”

Sirius blinked at her. “Not nice?”

She shrugged. “She doesn’t pretend to be nicer than she is, I guess. It’s honest. The other girls were always acting superior.”

“We’ll see what we can do, Arrakis. I think it’s quite possible that the Bulstrodes will allow their daughter to visit Black Manor,” Lucretia said.

Oyunskaya had been doodling on her notepad. “I’ve an idea. Pick one of those Muggleborn girls and ask if you can trade weekends because you would like to see what it is like to live in a Muggle home and offer her the chance to stay in a wizard home.”

Arrakis considered this. It got over the awkwardness of asking rather well, in her opinion. “I think Hermione Granger would respond to that approach. It’s educational and she’s very studious.”

Lucretia said, “Her parents will likely want to meet your guardians. Suggest we meet them at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, oh, any day this week. Do you know anything about them?”

“They’re some kind of Muggle healers specialising in teeth.”

“Educated professionals, I suppose.” Lucretia’s fan swept slowly back and forth.

  
In a couple of days, Hermione, her mother, Arrakis, and Madame Oyunskaya were seated at the Ice Cream Parlour. Most of the small talk so far had been Oyunskaya explaining how she was retained by the family chiefly to act as Arrakis’ duenna.

Mrs. Granger glanced approvingly at Arrakis’ small toffee ice cream cone. All four had ended up with the same size. “Hermione tells me wizards have magical healing for teeth, but in my work I see so many people with bad teeth from bad diets that I can hardly enjoy treats myself. This is absolutely delicious ice cream, however.”

Oyunskaya smiled. “I’m retired from dancing, but I developed my body over years of hard work and I am not going to throw that all away. It is good to know when to treat yourself, and when to refrain.”

Arrakis asked Hermione, “I suppose you have done all your summer homework? I’ve been working on one subject a week until it’s done. I feel spreading it out keeps me in a regular habit of study. I do better with a routine.”

Hermione smiled. “I have finished, but I still think yours is a good idea. I thought you did pretty well in the classes.”

“We often go to Europe for a week or more in the summer,” said her mother, “for our big family holiday. It gets us out of any dull habits we might be in and helps us with our languages.”

“Cela semble merveilleux. Je parle seulement un peu le français.”

Hermione perked up. “On devrait parler français ensemble.”

“You’re good with the tenses. I need so much more practice.”

“Did I speak too fast? I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, I understood you. I couldn’t have put that sentence together so fast. I’ll gladly spend time speaking French with you, only promise to be patient of my flubs!”

“Of course! I’m learning too.”

The atmosphere was comfortable as the girls talked about school and the women spoke alongside about stratified wizard society. Oyunskaya was quite comfortable with Muggle terms and the Muggle point of view. “Mrs. Prewett is a lady in the old-fashioned style. We dress for dinner but otherwise she expects children to be children. If they tidy themselves up after becoming a mess, she is satisfied.”

Sirius showed up as planned, with a photo album under his arm. He’d been going to buy one anyway, he had claimed, to preserve the memories of Arrakis’ childhood. It gave the Grangers a chance to meet Sirius and to show them Black Manor. By Mrs. Granger’s sharp glance she had heard about his release from prison, and innocent or not, she was going to make up her own mind.

He beamed as he turned the page to a big photograph of Arrakis performing a particularly smooth dive and swoop into a feather light landing. “Arrakis is a natural. She gets that from her dad. James could have been a professional Quidditch player. Does Miss Granger swim?”

“The lake is safe to swim in?” Mrs. Granger asked. “Do you have a lifeguard on duty?”

Sirius blinked at her. Arrakis said quickly, “When I fly someone is always with me. Sirius puts a charm on me in case I fall into the water so he knows exactly where I am. We practised to make sure it worked and he always fished me out in a few seconds.”

Sirius made an ‘Oh!’ face. “I see what you mean, Mrs. Granger. I was once in training to be an auror and part of the course was emergency healing and rescue spells. My god-daughter’s safety is very important to me.”

“The property is dilapidated in places, but we took care to mark what was off limits knowing Arrakis would live there.” He turned the pages. The deep green of the holm oak woods and the bright blue of Gwederemere made a photogenic backdrop to the buildings. The photographs taken from the air showed clearly what buildings had been restored.

Hermione ooooed. “You must have one of those big old libraries, don’t you?”

“Certainly, but it is off limits. The books are old and need to be catalogued and restored. Right now they are under protective spells that will have to themselves be dismantled.”

“You’ll see the Hogwarts Library again soon. But I think you would like to look at the childrens’ library from the old nursery. It’s the kind of thing wizard born children grow up reading.”

“Shared cultural experiences,” Hermione said thoughtfully.

Sirius’ eyebrows soared up in arches that recalled his dog form. Arrakis would not have been surprised to see him cock his head.

“Yes. It made such a big difference to me. I grew up in my world, but not with other children.” Arrakis stopped there and looked in appeal to Sirius and Oyunskaya.

Mrs. Granger said, “Your Mrs. Prewett wrote to me separately concerning your unique circumstances.” She smiled at Arrakis. “You’ve been telling us about your home, but this is supposed to go both ways. We have a spare room that you should find comfortable and Hermione already drew up a schedule of things to do timed to the minute, but I reined her in. Life doesn’t conform to a stopwatch.”

“Mum!” Hermione hissed, turning red.

Oyunskaya told Sirius and Arrakis, “A stopwatch is a special time measuring device used for precision judgements such as the outcome of a race.”

It was Mrs. Granger’s turn to look startled. “I didn’t think twice about it. So strange these two worlds, so close but hardly mixing.” Her smile came back. “We should love to have you come stay with us, Arrakis, and Hermione has my permission to accept your invitation to visit. I hope you two girls will have lots of fun.”

Mrs. Granger pulled out a booklet that turned out to have a planning calendar in it. She and Oyunskaya picked a time period, with Hermione staying at Black Manor on weekdays, and Arrakis visiting her on the weekend when the Grangers were there to supervise.

After they left, Sirius sat down with a fresh cone and looked at Arrakis. “Gryffindor? Not Ravenclaw?”

She nodded.

He shrugged, smiled, but the smile faded as he mused over his cone. He kept silent as Arrakis and Oyunskaya talked about how to entertain Hermione.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione comes to visit and there are some shared cultural experiences. For one thing, Hermione learns of house elves. It was bound to happen.

  
“I can’t believe I never thought to look at the childrens’ section at Flourish and Blotts.” Hermione set a stack of books aside that Arrakis had offered to let her borrow and take back home. “Shall we go outside now? I suppose a broom would make it easier to get around a big property. Are there wizards who own horses?”

“Yes, normal and magical steeds. There was a stable here once, but it’s part of the off limits area. You shall have to come back next year and see how improved it all is. Sirius says if he’s going to build then he’s going to modernise.”

“I quite understand, but the ruined bits are very picturesque, like the cover of a Gothic novel. He should take some photographs of it the way it is.”

They made their way out to the back of the property. As long as they stayed in sight of the windows of the inhabited wing and out of the marked off areas, they were at liberty.

“I can see where brooms would be handy to get around all this property. And you’d stay out of the muck.”

“There’s wetlands at the far end of the lake, and here by the house that the moat drains to. That water the bridge goes over becomes quite swampy. I’ve seen turtles, and you can hear the toads and frogs at night.”

“Are there magical creatures living here?”

“Yes, a few. When there are wizards living in an area, there’s a kind of ambient magic that attracts them. That’s why there’s so many around Hogwarts, in the lake and in the forest. There are some magical plants here. Possibly they strayed from the conservatory.”

“And where did he stray from?” Hermione gestured in the direction of the fens. A man was standing by a growth of thick fox sedge. He wore a long blue coat and his blond curls lay dishevelled about his shoulders. At first his legs looked bare, but on a longer look they proved to be some kind of tan leggings.

Arrakis moved a few steps to one side for a different perspective. Now she could see sedges through him. “He’s the ghost. I wonder if he’s more vivid for being out in the sun. You never see the ghosts of Hogwarts outside.”

“What’s his name?”

“No one knows now. Sirius says he never speaks to anyone.”

The ghost turned and looked at them. They waved at him, but didn’t approach. He gave them a courtly bow before drifting away along the edge of the wetlands. The ancient cut of his clothing was more apparent seen from the front.

“He looked sad,” said Hermione. “I hope we didn’t disturb him.”

“I’d go over to where he was standing, but it feels rude.”

“Oh, now I’m curious too.”

With pining looks towards the swamp verge, the two girls drifted around the end of the wing. They kept their faces mostly turned away from the glare off the glass of the conservatory. The ground was firm underfoot. When they came towards the front their elevation above the water was obvious. They were standing on the buried bones of the old castle. There was only a narrow path and a low stone ledge around the front of the building to the bridge.

Hermione knelt on the bridge to get a better look at the stone wall. “I wonder how deep it goes. Has Mr. Black talked about dredging it? That swamp is near the house if you receive really heavy rain you might get flooding. Do you have a cellar?”

“The kitchens and laundry are on the lower floor.”

Hermione sat up. “You do your own laundry? I thought it was done by some household charm.”

“The house elves have their own magic.”

“The what?”

That opened a can of worms. Hermione was equally fascinated and horrified. Arrakis had to admit, she’d never questioned the justice of the house elves’ situation. Arrakis made Hermione promise not to talk about ‘freeing’ house elves to their faces as that would upset them, before she took Hermione on a tour of the lower level of the house.

Of course, they could not go into the kitchens without the house elves swarming about and offering to make them all kinds of food.

“There’s so many of them,” she muttered.

“They’re on loan from Hogwarts. Uncle Sirius asked for volunteers and offered Hogwarts a donation for each one who agreed to come help out for the summer.” She got most of that out before Hermione began to sputter.

“They’re at Hogwarts too?”

“Of course. That’s a lot of laundry and food. You didn’t think Mr. Filch did it all?”

“I thought it was just magic…”

The house elves were already setting a light tea service up: just a small pot and two plates of dainty sandwiches and biscuits.

Arrakis urged Hermione into a seat. “It would be rude not to enjoy it after they went to the trouble. You really ought to ask Aunt Lucretia and Uncle Sirius these questions. I’m curious, too.” She worried about Kreacher now. He was rather grim, but he was insistent about serving her and certainly seemed satisfied when he’d served her to his standards. The Hogwarts elves were positively jolly. That indicated that all house elves were not identical.

Hermione nibbled a sandwich as she thought something over. “You never thought to ask about something you’d known all your life. What will you ask about in my home that I took for granted? I look forward to it.”

“This is not only educational. I’m trying to have more friends. I’m not very good at it.”

“Lots of people want to be your friend, I thought.”

“I haven’t found it so. So I’m trying to get to know people better outside of school. It’s so political there.”

Hermione made a face. “I know. Look, I’m not good at making friends either. I never had any close friends in school — in my Muggle school. When I found out I was a witch, I thought that was why. I was different and they could feel it. Maybe I should have asked for Ravenclaw instead of Gryffindor. The girls in my dorm aren’t very interested in books. Their clothes, their hair, boys, yes.”

“That happens in Slytherin too.”

“I bet it happens in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. I suppose I’m in Gryffindor for me, anyway, and not for them.”

“Do you think I’m weird?” Arrakis let her fingers drift over the selection of treats.

“As opposed to what? Are we all supposed to be the same, so that someone who dares to be different is weird? I hate that. Once a girl told me I thought I was better than everyone. Because I wasn’t painting my nails or reading celebrity gossip magazines? Because I wanted to study and learn all I could? If that’s better, I’m fine with it.” Despite Hermione’s defiance, her eyes were blinking rapidly.

Arrakis glanced aside whilst Hermione composed herself. “I was tutored at home, except for dance classes. I had to take that with Muggles. When I was very small… it didn’t seem to matter. But the older we got, even though I was in the same class with some girls for years, I never got close with them. I suppose it was because I didn’t go to the same schools and I wasn’t able to go hang out with them. I was always this rich girl showing up in a fancy car and never inviting anyone over to my mansion.”

“You have now.”

Arrakis looked up, and Hermione was smiling. “I did, didn’t I? I’d like to be friends. I might be in Slytherin but I will never speak badly about Muggleborns. I will never disrespect my mother like that.” She sighed. “I’ve got to go to a party.”

“I’m sorry?” Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“At the Malfoys. It’s for children, supposedly, but it’s really for all that crowd to get a look at me. Mrs. Malfoy and Draco are two of my closest relatives, and we’re trying to make better family relationships. There’s been a lot of bad feeling over the years.”

“So you have to make nice with people who probably supported the man who… because some of them are relatives?”

“Most of them are relatives. For so-called pure bloods, that inevitably means marrying cousins. Uncle Sirius’ parents were second cousins. In the immediate family tree were marriages to a Flint, a Bulstrode, and a MacMillan. If you add my Potter relatives, by being blood adopted I’ve become related to myself.”

“It’s like the royals. But with magic.”

“I guess. Looking at it that way, I’m glad my mother was Muggleborn.”

“Biologically speaking, they should be looking for Muggleborns to marry.”

“Oh, don’t speak biogr…log… Aunt Lucretia gave me the, the… “ she lowered her voice to discuss ‘the sex talk’. There are some things that can’t be shared without creating friendships, and trading tales of ‘the sex talk’ is one of them.

That afternoon they went swimming in the lake. There was a stretch of shoreline that had beach sand laid in place. Here Sirius sat in a deckchair reading a Quidditch magazine. Oyunskaya was sunning herself on a raft, with a charmed speaker playing the WWN. A shimmer surrounded her which she explained was a special skin protecting charm. The girls were allowed to swim to the raft and back, but not past. Hermione wore a modest two piece suit that showed only a couple of inches of midriff. Arrakis had an animated betta on her one piece with a halter style neck. They both wore plaits to keep their hair from becoming a mass of snarls. 

Arrakis had had a couple of swimming lessons that had focused on the breaststroke. Hermione was proficient, and fast, at an overarm crawl. 

As a natural sharer of knowledge, Hermione tried passing on some of her swimming knowledge by teaching Arrakis what she had learnt in her first lessons. A moment’s float with her face down in the water brought Sirius zooming over on his broom. He was relieved to find her still breathing.

“I was watching,” Oyunskaya said mildly.

“I was panicking,” said Sirius. “Think of my poor old heart before you look drowned again, please.”

“You should get some flotation devices. A kickboard supports your upper body to make it easier to learn how to kick effectively. There’s lots of safety gear available. It’s important to keep safety in mind so that even if people do have accidents they can be helped immediately.” Hermione looked back and forth between the two adults and began to blush.

“I appreciate your advice, Miss Granger. I have seen many crowded public beaches and it is good to know there is consideration made for their safety,” Oyunskaya said. “I think it is time you came out of the water.”

“You could make sand sculptures. There’s a charm that makes sand mold almost like clay. I could cast it for you, if you like.” It was impossible to say ‘no’ to the nostalgia in Sirius’ voice. The girls consented to an activity that felt a little childish for their mature double-digit years, but once they started molding sand into place they became absorbed in seeing how fantastical a fortress they could build.

Now that her charges were out of the water, Oyunskaya swam methodically back and forth, turning at the end of each row with an underwater curl. Sirius began making strokes in the sand to count her progress but unknowingly also measured with the way his eyebrows rose ever higher.

Everyone dressed for supper when Aunt Lucretia was lady of the house. The code didn’t call for formal wear, but casual was not allowed. Sirius wore black robes with a ruby red velvet waistcoat trimmed in gold accents. Aunt Lucretia wore her favourite lilac silk robes with a long double strand of pearls. Madame Oyunskaya wore sky blue silk robes of an airy summer cut. The sleeves were caught up with gold buttons showing scallops of bare skin. The girls wore simple cotton frocks with tights, Hermione in peach gingham with cream pin stripes and Arrakis in teal trimmed with white lace.

Hermione’s table manners weren’t polished, but she paid attention to how the adults at the table carried on. Oyunskaya unobtrusively coached her. Arrakis was careful of her own movements and kept up her part in the conversation. She didn’t want to make any mistakes in front of a guest. The adults, even Sirius, dined as if elegant table manners were bred into them. Maybe that was a part of the Black family talents that Arrakis hadn’t inherited on being blood-adopted.

Aunt Lucretia drew Hermione out by asking about her extended family. Hermione was an only child, as was her mother. Her father’s sister had moved to America and they had little contact with her. Oyunskaya spoke up with a story about her father’s family in Russia. She’d had little contact with them because of Muggle politics and Hermione was immediately fascinated.

Sirius was listening with a slight frown. Arrakis wasn’t sure what bothered him. Aunt Lucretia offered a story about her grandfather, Phileas Nigellus Black who had been Headmaster of Hogwarts. “Before then, he was Professor of Transfiguration, and Head of Slytherin House. There is a portrait of him at Grimmauld Place as well as the one that hangs in the Headmaster’s office along with the other past incumbents of that post.”

“I’ve noticed,” said Hermione, “that there are no portraits here in the manor. Why is that so, if it is not rude to ask?”

“There may be some left in the closed off wing, but Father moved all the portraits out of this wing and the main hall when he took up residence at Grimmauld Place and brought them there. That happened when I was a small child, so naturally Father did not confide in me.”

Grimmauld Place did not have a lot of portraits hung. Certainly, important recent names from the family tree were not represented on the walls. Arrakis felt embarrassed that she’d never thought of that before, but that was one of the reasons she had reached out to Hermione Granger.

Aunt Lucretia went on speaking. “Sirius, have you told Arrakis anything about her Potter grandparents? In that generation they were not particular acquaintances of the Black family and I did not know them well.”

Sirius’ grin flashed out. “Such a polite periphrasis. The Potters took me in when I quarrelled with my parents. I will never forget their generosity.” He addressed Lucretia, “Mrs. Potter often tried to think of ways in which I might reconcile with the family. She even tried to write my mother to assure her that they would protect me and encourage me to keep in touch. I don’t know if my mother ever replied.”

Hermione’s eyes were wide.

“Families are the true source of all drama. Ask any Russian,” Oyunskaya said slyly. “But one need not be Russian to be dramatic.”

“What about the Evans family? My mother’s parents.”

“Only your aunt could tell you now, unless…” Lucretia glanced at Sirius.

“I didn’t know them, k—Arrakis. Lily never talked to me about her family. She may have said something to the girls she shared a dorm with, but I have the impression it’s difficult for Muggleborn students to talk about their families at Hogwarts.”

“People do have some odd ideas about how Muggles live.”

“I shall probably say something terribly gauche when I come to stay, Hermione. I will have to think of my mother’s family and how I’m seeing something of how they might have been.”

Sirius was twisting his napkin most ungenteelly and not stopping even though Lucretia was giving him a stern look.

Lucretia liked to digest her meal with some music and reading. Arrakis had been trained to read out loud. This evening, for Hermione’s sake, she read from ‘The Tales of Beedle the Bard’. It was easier than a history book and less dry than the minutes of a Wizengamot session. She read ‘The Fountain of Fair Fortune,’ with a certain flair as it was an old favourite. None of her family had ever objected to hearing the same text, but they were certainly critical of her style. Tonight, praised, she set the book aside for Hermione.

“Miss Granger, perhaps you would like to choose a record to play on the gramophone?” Lucretia asked.

“Certainly, Mrs. Prewett.” Hermione took a few steps towards the gramophone, bright brass and lacquered wood enthroned on a walnut cabinet. She reached for the records in their sleeves, but looked back over her shoulder. “Or, if you like, I could recite poetry. I’ve memorised some verses.”

Lucretia smiled. “Was that a normal part of your schooling, or an extra effort on your part?”

“We were only a few times required to do so, and never more than one per term. But I have a good memory so I remember by heart a few poems I liked very much. My father says that an acquaintance with poetry is beneficial for all composition.”

“We should like to hear you recite, if you’d be so kind.” Lucretia took a sip from her glass of sherry, then folded her hands on her lap. She didn’t ask anyone else’s opinion.

“’I met a traveller from an antique land,’” began Hermione. Her style was not very expressive, but she spoke clearly and with respect to the meter and rhyme scheme of the poem. Everyone applauded and Hermione sat down, blushing.

“That was well done, my dear. I have not heard that poem since I was a child. We shall have music now — if you please, Miss Oyunskaya.”

Oyunskaya handled the gramophone. Some unseen communication had passed between her and Lucretia that Hermione might not be familiar with the operation of the antique music player. She put on some classical music. The gramophone had been charmed to keep playing once it had been set in motion.

Sirius took this opportunity to excuse himself for the evening. He claimed business that needed attention, and Lucretia bade him goodnight, followed by a chorus of the others.

“Miss Granger, I’m pleased to see you have had some arts education. Do you dance?”

“That had not yet been offered for my year though it was part of the physical education program. I took gymnastics, but as I did not want to put in the hours to compete, I had to stop after a couple of years. I wanted the time for my academics.”

“Arrakis tells me you have the highest rank in class of your year at Hogwarts. That is commendable. You should ask your parents about dance lessons. There is no art that lends presence and poise to an adult such as skill in dancing. When I was young that was one of our chief sources of entertainment. Sport may aid the maintenance of bodily health, but dance gives grace.” Lucretia stopped a little abruptly and leaned back into her chair. “You young things may take your leave. Miss Oyunskaya and I will keep each other company.”

The girls made their goodnights and went down the corridor to Arrakis’ room. Arrakis closed the door behind them.

Hermione went right to the window seat and sat down. “Your aunt is very gracious, Arrakis, but it was like being in a period drama. Is that really how it is all the time for you?”

“Yes. Is it that odd?”

“It’s incredibly old-fashioned.”

Arrakis sat down on the other side of the window seat. “I’ve only seen a couple of guests at the London house. Draco Malfoy’s parents didn’t act like it was strange. I wonder what their house will be like.” It was still light outside, but the sun was pushing down into the trees throwing rays of lurid light towards her window. “You might not be getting what you agreed to if my home isn’t a normal wizarding home.”

“I’m still glad I came.”

Arrakis bit her lip. “You know I invited you because I thought you would be interested in the exchange. I didn’t know you well enough to like you, but you’re very intelligent and you have a strong character. I respect that. And I want to know more Muggleborns. I can see now it’s ridiculous to put it that way, as if all of them were alike.”

“That’s okay. I came because I was curious and because you’ve always been polite. I like you now. You like me—don’t you?”

“Yes. I like watching you think… oh, I don’t know how to say it.”

Hermione laughed. “I think that’s fine. Thank you.”

To give Hermione the full experience of a sleepover at Black Manor, Arrakis made a loan of one of her white batiste nightgowns. Hermione was a little taller and a little thicker, but the cut of the gown was such it didn’t matter. The summer gown had only a little cap sleeve and a yoke of crocheted cotton thread.

Proving she was not made of intellect alone, Hermione sighed rapturously. “I feel like a princess.” She turned back and forth in front of the full length mirror.

“I’d loan you a tiara but they’re all in Gringotts.”

Hermione whirled around. “’All’ in Gringotts.” Her voice was as flat as her stare.

“I’m sure there’s more than one. I’m not familiar with the jewelry inventory. Most of is supposed to get passed down in the family. If there’s any jewelry my mother left me, I could sell it or be buried with it or melt it down for sculpture.”

Hermione burst into giggles. “Sorry — I was just imagining how one would wear more than one tiara at a time. Build a tiara tower or stick two on your neck for a pointy collar.”

“Jangly bracelets.”

“Put them on top of a pair of knee high boots. Like a very successful pirate.”

“You could say I’m rich, but it’s not as though they give me all that money to spend. They spend money on me. I have to account for my allowance to teach me to manage my finances. I’m required to read the financial section of the Daily Prophet and the budgetary reports of the Ministry. Sirius has lessons for it all the time. I suppose it’s a lot to drop in his lap after the life he’s had.”

Hermione said sympathetically, “My parents are starting to talk to me about the household budget and how they pay for things and how they’re managing their savings for retirement. I wish Hogwarts had financial classes. Apparently even non-Muggleborns need to get taught money management.”

“Give it to the Arithmancy teacher.” They both snickered.

They ended up sleeping in Arrakis’ bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As old fashioned as the wizarding world can be, the Blacks are mired a few decades back more than most, even for pure bloods.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrakis finishes her visit with Hermione. To go from a visit to a Muggle household to an all day party at Malfoy Manor is a bit of a contrast.

Hermione was still asleep when Arrakis got up to exercise. She left the sleeping girl a note, and an hour later Hermione came to the dance studio in Muggle clothing. Arrakis was practising a short routine en pointe to Oyunskaya’s accompaniment on the piano. She didn’t pause when Hermione came in. Nothing stopped practice except a fall or Madame’s command.

Madame ended on a chord and stood up. “Arrakis, practice your emboîté combinations, please.” She went over to Hermione. “Since you are up, Miss Granger, shall I give you something to do with yourself?” She measured Hermione’s trainers with a glance. “We can work around the denim and I can give you some flats. One does not wear street shoes on the dance floor.” Within a few minutes she had Hermione working at the bar doing pliés and coaching the movement of her arms.

“Like wand movements,” said Hermione happily. Arrakis indulged in a pirouette.

“That is enough en pointe work today, Arrakis. Work on your petit allegro steps in demi-pointe.”

Madame got them both sweating, set them a few cooling down exercises, then sent them off to wash. Arrakis loaned Hermione her Japanese hair lotion. “Just use a small amount and see if it makes a difference,” she urged. Hermione looked at the jar as if she could guess how expensive it was, but took it anyway.

Arrakis went back to her room and started to get dressed. She held up a top and checked her reflection. Was that shadow a little cleavage or was it just her imagination? She peeked inside her robe and prodded thoughtfully. Imagination, so far. Hermione didn’t need imagination. Well on her way to thirteen, she was wearing a training bra.

Today they were going to visit the wizarding extension of the British Museum. Sirius had waffled on going with until almost the last minute, then became doggedly insistent. The plan was to visit a variety of sites that were not in the Diagon Alley. The girls would then be delivered to the Granger home for the second half of the sleepover.

Arrakis had her purchases sent on to Black Manor. Sirius had engaged the services of the Rolls for the summer. He rode with them in the wizard space enlarged rear compartment. It was a little over an hour’s drive and he spent it scanning the traffic outside.

“Is it harder not to be the one driving, Uncle Sirius?”

“Mr. Walker is a more experienced driver who trained for this work. I can’t imagine manoeuvring a big car like this through crowded streets. But yes, I prefer to drive myself. My motorbike is more agile even with a sidecar.” He said to Hermione, “The Rolls had magical warding built into it from its original construction. It’s a custom design, of course. I don’t know if any others were made. The rune inlays have to be done on real metal and wood, so this company that makes automobiles for the wealthy, and uses luxurious materials, was a better fit to produce magically enhanced vehicles. The Ministry has some enhanced vehicles as well, but they’re not so flashy.”

“Modern cars have a lot of electronics in them. I imagine that would get in the way,” Hermione surmised.

Sirius nodded. “Correct. I don’t know if anyone is trying.”

“Someone should buy up classic cars, because I’m sure all the later models have computers in them..”

Sirius blinked at her. A thoughtful expression settled his face.

The Granger home was in a prosperous neighbourhood. The houses were multi-story and surrounded by well kept greenery. The same impression continued in the interior. The rooms were tidy and beautifully decorated without being ostentatious. It looked like a home to enjoy living in. Sirius refused an invitation to stay for dinner with his most elegant manners. He kissed Arrakis’ forehead and told her to have fun. Before leaving he had a private word with Mr. Granger, whose smile faded a little. He and Sirius shook hands at the door. Sirius gave Arrakis a last farewell wave and went out.

The Grangers were not formal, but had simple, gracious manners as they dined family style. Chicken curry was the main dish. Mrs. Granger watched anxiously as Arrakis tried it. “I held back on the spice. I wasn’t sure how used to it you were.”

She wasn’t used to it at all. It made her skin flush and her nose run a bit. By the completely unruffled expressions the others wore, to them this was mild. “It is tasty, though unfamiliar. It’s quite satisfying — I mean, the flavour makes you feel like you’re eating something substantial.” Arrakis took small portions of everything and ate everything she took. They had provided her with a glass of chilled milk, which tasted thin but not sour. It helped with the heat of the food, so she did not question it. The salad was dressed with a tangy raspberry vinaigrette that she had never tasted before and liked immediately.

It was only the beginning of a series of new sensations. The Muggle lifestyle was not onerous, though having electronics everywhere was strange. Clearly the Grangers were modestly wealthy and no comforts were lacking. They sat out around the patio and talked. Hermione was full of interesting observations about her stay at Black Manor. She had to visibly rein herself in and ask Arrakis to take a turn. She praised the food again and told the Grangers about her evening out in London with Sirius, and the movie they’d seen.

When it grew dark they took her in to show her the television and their collection of video tapes, which she knew from their use in dance class to record performances.

“It’s the animated drawings that are startling. One expects people and animals to move. Wizard portraits are so different — they have the imprint of real people. The drawings are complete imaginary but they express themselves like people.”

Hermione headed for a set of books on the well-stocked shelf. “I could look it up in the encyclopedia,” she said eagerly.

“Whoa, hold on.” Mr. Granger got one of the VHS cases. “Maybe she should just watch more.” He fed the tape to the player device and turned on all the light and sound.

This was how Arrakis Marguerite Black met Dangermouse.

This was how Arrakis fell in love forever with Penfold.

The visit with Hermione weighed on Arrakis mind as she prepared for the Malfoy fête. The two girls had casually shared their time. Neither was out to dominate the other, and there was no family connection that might be tempted to pounce on The Girl Who Lived. It had been pure fun. Going to visit Malfoy Manor was a political act. Sirius had made a point of bringing up the party when meeting with Lucius Malfoy at the Ministry. He reported that Malfoy had been quite willing to behave like a host looking forward to having his wife’s family as guests.

Lucretia and Oyunskaya coached Arrakis on how to handle Draco. He’d want to patronise her—he always did—and it was her part to not contradict him without giving the impression she considered him a superior or that a marriage had already been arranged for them. Sirius was tasked with keeping an eye on dangerous elements: those who were suspected Death Eaters, those who had pleaded the Imperius successfully, and pure blood supremacists who had not followed Voldemort but were upset about changes in the Black family.

“I need more eyes,” he muttered.

“Algernon Stroud will be there. Try not to need him. He’ll try not to look like he’s assisting you.”

“And have fun?”

“If you must.”

They arrived at Malfoy Manor at nine in the morning. Most of the guests were already there, having stayed over night. Mrs. Malfoy greeted them and invited them to breakfast. As they had already eaten, Iris Crabbe, acting as Narcissa’s assistant, suggested they join her on a bird-watching walk. “I really thought I saw a Golden Snidget last year. The reserve is in Somerset, you know, quite close as the Snidget flies.”

Sirius agreed with enthusiasm for both of them. Iris led them and a few others into the forest. She was a tall, square-built young woman, but beyond that had little resemblance to her younger brother. The bird watchers were not a very social group. Instead of chatting, they peered intently into the forest. Occasionally one would whisper variations on the theme of, “Over on the left — no, it flew off.”

Arrakis murmured to Sirius, “I should like to see a Golden Snidget, but I didn’t expect it of you.”

“I prefer the woods to the jungle.”

The forest here was more groomed than the surrounds of Black Manor. The undergrowth had been trimmed so that turns in the path would open up new vistas. The morning sun shone golden ribbons through the trees. She wondered if bluebells grew here in the spring. Birds were all around, singing, but all the ones she saw were non-magical species.

“Oh, there it is!” a boy called out. The others hushed him, and he continued in a whisper and a frantic point. “There. On that beech branch.”

“That’s a goldfinch.”

Arrakis gave up hope of seeing a Golden Snidget, but it was a pleasant walk. At least Sirius was more relaxed.

As they came out of the forest, a house-elf popped up in front of her. “Miss Black, Mr. Draco Malfoy is looking for you for Quidditch.”

Sirius chuckled. “Well, at least you’ll be out in the open.” While Arrakis thanked the house-elf and asked him to let Draco she’d be there shortly, Sirius pulled a tiny box out of his pocket and unshrank it. “Here’s your broom and your Quidditch goggles. I see the rings of the pitch from here.”

Arrakis shouldered her broom and they followed the paths that led towards the pitch. It was small compared to the Hogwarts stadium, but impressive for a private home. Players were already in the air. She pointed out the dozen or so she knew from Hogwarts to Sirius.

They were playing timed Quidditch with Snitches that could have a duration set on them. If they weren’t caught before the time limit, they dropped to the ground and the game was over.

The current game finished without the Snitch being caught. Draco flew down to meet them. “Hello, Mr. Black, cousin Arrakis. I almost thought you weren’t going to come, but mother told me you went bird watching. Did Iris Crabbe lure you in with optimistic tales of seeing a Golden Snidget?”

“That is exactly what happened. No, we didn’t see one.”

“I really think she must have seen a goldfinch. Oh, that’s a fine broom.” He admired her custom Nimbus 2001. She gripped it to trigger the animation of lightning bolts running down the shaft.

Sirius beamed. “I gave it to her for her birthday.”

“I’ve just been playing Seeker and I nominate you to take my spot. We’re supposed to swap out and keep mixing the teams up. You do want to play proper Quidditch and not lawn Quidditch, right? The little kids are on the lawn over there.” His eyes glinted.

“Oh, I think I will give this flying around in the air thing a bit of a go, what?” she drawled.

“Excellent, because I’m going to watch. I’ll show you the best seat in the stands, Mr. Black.” He slapped Arrakis twice on the shoulder and shouted, “Seeker swap out Team Green! Arrakis Black for Draco Malfoy.” The green patch on his shoulder flew over to Arrakis’ shoulder and stuck on. She put on her goggles and kicked off with her broom to join her team.

She had meant to try other positions, but after catching a Snitch in 14 minutes, she was in demand as Seeker by both teams. Despite that, she did only catch the one, though she came close twice more.

Quidditch play lasted until noon. Narcissa gathered up her guests, offering rooms for a cool respite from the summer heat, board games, billiards, or for those of a more lively disposition, an excursion to Stonehenge and a picnic luncheon. Arrakis chose Stonehenge and Sirius elected to stay behind and ‘mingle’, as he said with a pained expression.

The expedition travelled in a carriage drawn by Aethonans. Arrakis, like most of the other girls in the carriage, crowded the front to watch the beats of the horses’ wide wings and the muscles moving under their shining chestnut coats. She found herself squeezed up against Pansy Parkinson. They nodded pleasantly at each other and didn’t say a word.

The picnic was held at Avebury Manor. Some Malfoy agent had discreetly reserved an area of green lawn and shade trees for the party and Muggles were kept away. The food, cut into easily eaten portions, was elegantly packaged and all delicious. It was like being in a stage play. Everyone spoke civilly. Everyone was well dressed. Only the younger children behaved naturally—getting messy, occasionally quarrelling over a choice treat. Arrakis found herself with little appetite and circulated around, trying to find something to say to each person. Taking that moment to look into their eyes for assurance that they were real and not mannequins. Was Sirius doing the same thing back at Malfoy Manor?

At Avebury they wandered along a line of standing stones. They weren’t magic, but they were magical in a sense that she had no words for. She stood staring at one and tried to find in her own posture some of that obdurate ‘I exist; I am here’ quality.

A hand slipped into hers. “Come, cousin. We’re going to Stonehenge now. We’ll go in small groups and be disillusioned so that the Muggles can’t see us.” Draco kept by her side as they grouped up and took Portkeys to travel to the other site.

The stones were smaller than she expected, tumbled and the circle incomplete. Without any thought, she stepped under a trilithon. A chill ran up her back. Draco, following, crowded up behind her to get through. There was intent here, lost to time but still embedded in the presence of the stones. All wizards knew of standing stones, but the lore of them was lost to history. They were from a time before wands. Maybe they were the beginning of wands, thrusting out of the earth and making patterns in the air.

She was glad to have seen the stones, but glad to leave. They were secrets people had kept only to lose them to death. What good was a secret when all who knew it were dead?

Malfoy Manor was capacious, but with the large numbers of guests they needed to assign as many as four to each bedroom to be used to change clothes and wash up. Arrakis was sharing with Millicent Bulstrode, Iris Crabbe, and Gemma Farley. Arrakis took her turn in the en-suite. After coming out, she climbed into one of the two beds to put her feet up and do a few leg stretches.

She’d chosen the bed Millicent was still stretched out in. Millicent set her foot down next to Arrakis’. It was longer and broader. “If you’re always working on making your feet stronger, why aren’t they bigger?”

Arrakis picked up the coverlet between her toes and lifted it. Muscles curved out of the sleek skin of her leg. “I don’t think feet can get bigger by exercise. My leg and arm muscles, yes. I have a special workout regimen for quality of muscle instead of bulk. She grabbed the coverlet with the toes of the other foot and lowered it again. “Male dancers’ legs can get… rather bulgy. The calf and thigh muscles.” She distracted herself with a few more limbering exercises. Time to get dressed.

She found Sirius waiting for her on the upstairs landing. He smiled at her and offered an arm. “You look very pretty. How was Stonehenge?”

“Thank you. It was less and more than I thought it would be. Are there any wizards who study the standing stones?”

“They’re brought up in both Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Perhaps Binns might have something if you can get his attention.”

“How was your afternoon?”

“I held on to my temper so hard I left fingerprints.”

“Um. Good?”

“There was a certain satisfaction in it.” He patted her arm. “Don’t worry about it. Now, Malfoy told me what to expect this evening. There will be tents scattered throughout the garden that serve food. At the centre of the garden is a pavilion for dancing. The section of the garden nearest the Manor is for children’s games. Don’t go past the pavilion without me.”

“I understand. What kind of games?”

“You’ll see.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party's revving up at Malfoy Manor. No expense spared.

  
The glass-paned doors to the garden were propped open. The door frame was decorated with a vine that held large white flowers just beginning to open and share their fragrance. The walkways were paved with large flagstones that did not quite touch. The spaces were filled in by moss studded with tiny white flowers. Glass bubbles with enchanted light were strung everywhere in a variety of size, colour, and brightness. Fairies fluttered overhead.

Arrakis thought it was lovely, but Sirius didn’t seem impressed, or perhaps it was a front. “Don’t you think the garden is beautiful?”

“Oh, it’s a pretty sight. I like a wilder garden, myself, and the wild woods better.”

“Then you have all the grounds of Black Manor to do with as you wish.”

“Or as you wish.” He smiled down at her. “Look, there’s that tall friend of yours.”

Arrakis led Sirius to Millicent and introduced them.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Bulstrode. I hope you’re enjoying your evening.”

“I haven’t eaten yet.”

Sirius broke into a genuine grin. “Me either. You two young ladies go eat and amuse yourselves. I’ll come back later, Arrakis, and take you to the pavilion. Don’t go without me. I’ll be glad to escort you too, Miss Bulstrode, if you wish to accompany us.”

Millicent considered Sirius. “All right. Thanks.”

He gave them a little bow, then strode off in search of grown up company.

“Millicent, I would like you to come for a visit to Black Manor. May I have Mrs. Prewett ask your parents for permission?”

“Yes. Will we get some flying in?”

“Yes, I’m going to be training with a Quidditch coach.”

“Good. Here’s the food.”

Both of them were dressed like proper young ladies. Arrakis wore an aquamarine silk-linen dress with an overlay of white lace and crystal beads. Millicent looked stately in a green halter neck dress with organza sleeves. She did not let her finery stop her from enjoying her food. Arrakis ate very small portions. Even in the lea of Millicent, she was being observed. Over there were Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson, and there were other people who knew her from Hogwarts. Smaller children ran up to peer at her scar, then scurried away giggling. She excused herself from Millicent’s company. Better to circulate and be a moving target, than be pinned in the spotlight.

There were simple games, like Gobstones and Exploding Snap, and elaborate games designed for the occasion. A oval pond was the site of a naval battle, where the ships were controlled by beams of light from special toy wands. There was an ice cream castle with a jelly moat and a marzipan toy soldiers besieging it.

She found Draco Malfoy playing living wizards’ chess against Theo Nott. He was the White King, and Viola Richmond, a third year, was Queen.

“Hoy, Black. Come trade with me. You’ll be the Black White Queen,” she called.

Nott snorted. “I’d have claimed you if you’d been here at the start—no offense, Miss Stretton, but it would have been impossible to resist.”

Imogen Stretton shrugged. “I don’t mind changing out.”

“I’m willing to play,” said Arrakis, “But perhaps you’d settle it between the two of you who wishes to retire?”

“I have dibs,” Viola asserted. Imogen shrugged, and the game paused so that Arrakis could come take Viola’s crown and the big sword. The hilt came up to her armpit.

Imogen Stretton was much more imposing. She eyed Arrakis. “More of a White Princess.”

Neither Queen had much to do for a good twenty minutes. It was interesting to observe strategy from the perspective of a piece. There was a charm laid on the pieces so that they could only move as directed; she could never look behind herself. The King players had elevated thrones from which to survey their forces.

From prior observation, Nott was the better player. When she had beaten Draco before, it was through luring him into making some flashy move. He knew it was his weakness and she’d seen him bite his lip sore trying to restrain the impulse. Every decent player knew it was his weakness, and sometimes he could exploit it back.

She listened to the commands. To visualise the whole of the board and be able to see the possible upcoming moves was crucial to winning. It looked like Nott had left an opening, but whose trap was it? She looked up at Theo on his perch. His fingers were laced together and she could see the white of his knuckles from her position in the third rank.

Arrakis spoke to the hilt of her sword, “Nott looks tense.” Only Draco would be able to hear her, not even the other pieces on her side. Eight moves later, Draco had avoided the trap and Nott was trying to repair his defence. He pulled it off in the end: Draco had lost a bishop earlier in the game that would have protected him. Arrakis was the last piece to fall before Nott declared, “Check,” and Draco yielded.

Accompanied by Millicent, Sirius came up to her as she stepped off the playing field, slightly beating Draco to her side. “Good game, little cousin.” He offered Arrakis his other arm. “Ready to dance?”

“Cousin Sirius, you can’t claim all the ladies,” Draco protested. He offered an arm to Millicent. “Miss Bulstrode, will you do me the honour?”

Sirius raised a reluctantly impressed eyebrow and yielded Millicent up. She was half a head taller than Draco, who carried himself well and managed not to look dwarfed. Millicent’s face took on a pleased cast.

Sirius held back a step and let them proceed ahead. He murmured to Arrakis, “At some point this evening, there will be a fireworks display. When it starts, I want you to be in the pavilion so I can be sure to find you there. We will take our leave afterwards.” He touched her hand lightly. “I hope you have had fun today, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be on guard. Dark hours tempt dark deeds. Keep an eye on the Malfoy family. If someone makes you feel even a little wary, seek them out, Narcissa as first choice. As your kin and hostess, she would be shamed if someone harmed you in her home. Trust their pride if not their kindness. Sh…curse it, I feel old.” His smile glimmered.

She patted his arm. “You look very fine in your dress robes. I love the silver embroidery against the wine red. It makes your eyes brighter.”

He laughed out loud, startling the two in front of him, and others nearby. She realised she hadn’t heard such a laugh from an adult all evening. Even their merriment had been restrained by their efforts to remain poised. Arrakis smiled up at him and nudged her shoulder against his.

“Thanks, kiddo, I needed that boost before I run off to charm the ladies.”

The pavilion was a large structure at the heart of the garden, and incorporated plants within it. Broad staircases spiralled around trees leaving their canopies bare to the sky before exiting onto a veranda around the top. It was lighted by large open chandeliers that left plenty of room inside for dancers. Their lights rose from ornamental plants so that no one risked a collision as they moved through the space. A raised dais on one side fronted a fountain that had as its centrepiece a crystal peacock in full display of its feather fan that also shot a lacy spray of water. A band was set up to play there. Lucius and Narcissa came up arm in arm.

Lucius touched his wand to his throat. His voice carried across the crowd. “Friends, thank you so much for coming to our fête. I hope you have all been enjoying yourselves.” A polite cheer of agreement raised up from the crowd. “Now I must take a break from my duties as host to share the first dance with my beautiful wife.” He brought Narcissa’s hand to his lips. “I give you all — Spellbound!”

The band started playing a classic dance tune. Lucius led Narcissa to the floor.

“Miss Black, will you join me?” Sirius asked. She took his hand and they moved onto the floor.

How could she be on guard? This was sheer delight: the music, the lights, the others dancing. Why couldn’t her world have more of this and less of fear and cruelty?

For the next tune, Sirius and Draco switched partners. Before he gave up her hand, Sirius leaned close and whispered, “Remember: never go past the pavilion.” He smiled and tapped her nose. “And have fun,” he added as Draco danced off with her.

Draco was a good dancer, and being closer to her own height than Sirius, was easier to partner.

“I never much enjoyed dancing lessons, but you are reconciling me to the dance floor, cousin.”

“It’s more fun in a group.” Over Draco’s shoulder, she caught sight of a man staring at her. People had looked at her often today. Their eyes slid over her to the scar and away again. This man’s eyes were direct and his mouth tight.

She kept her eyes away from his. When the song ended, she asked Draco, “Cousin, who is the man in the dark brown robes and the vermilion waistcoat?”

Draco could be depended on to know his parents’ guests by their robes. “That’s Rolle Avery. Not someone you wish to meet, though he’d better be polite to you here.” She refused Draco a second dance with the excuse that she could not occupy her host when he had other guests, and he found her Theodore Nott to dance with. He knew the steps but was rather stiff and standoffish. He handed her over to Marcus Flint. Arrakis danced with almost every Slytherin boy she knew, right up to Vincent Crabbe, who was content to shuffle and let her dance around him. He also knew where the best refreshments were. Arrakis’ hand paused over the treats, hovered, and at last plucked a tiny apple from a faux tree.

“Skin white as snow, hair black as night, lips red as blood. Such a fairy-tale girl should avoid apples.” Arrakis turned to find Rolle Avery at her elbow. Just when she wanted something cool and dismissive to say, her tongue failed her.

“She should also avoid ogres.” Professor Snape’s unmistakable voice did not merely dismiss, it disposed. He stepped between her and Avery as easily as a shadow fell. Avery withdrew stony-faced.

“Hello, Professor. I hope you are having a pleasant evening.”

“I’ve had far worse.” He looked past her, his lips curling into a smile so unpleasant that it would outdo a crocodile. “Black.”

“Snape.” If loathing was lava, Sirius was a smoking volcano.

Arrakis touched Professor Snape’s sleeve. “Sir, would you like to dance?”

His gaze dropped to her face and his own expression smoothed. “I appreciate the invitation, Miss Black, but no, thank you.” He moved away.

Behind her Sirius exhaled deeply enough to stir her hair. “When I was young, I used to party the candles down to puddles. Now I feel more like blowing them out.”

Arrakis picked up her apple again and bit into it. It was delicious, of a variety she hadn’t tasted before. “Have you been dancing with pretty ladies?”

“I have, but my heart is still my own. Look: the fireworks are starting.” He stood at her back and she felt free to enjoy her apple and watch the sky as flowers of every colour and runes of fortune formed over the crowd and burst into showers of sparks.

When they died down, the lights in the pavilion died with them. Sirius tensed. Lights sprang up out in the garden to mark the paths and grottoes beyond. Discreetly, they dimmed again, visibly brighter by the pavilion and but ground star sparks farther out. The pavilion lights came on again. The younger party-goers began to head towards Malfoy Manor. Older ones began wandering out into the garden. Sirius found her hand with his. “Time to make our bows and go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an all day child-friendly event, this party was difficult to construct. It's exceedingly old-fashioned but as it was inspired by Lucius Malfoy's desire to show off his money and influence, it was easy to base it on what I've read of Ranelagh and Vauxhall Gardens. And like the latter, more adult activities were taking place out beyond the pavilion, as the children were sent inside.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From garden party to birthday dinner to Quidditch party, Arrakis continues her mad social whirl. Who knew this was so much work?

  
To her early morning ballet workouts, Arrakis added a late morning Quidditch lesson. Her trainer was Bevan Hughes, retired from the Holyhead Harpies to get married and pleased to have a job now that her children were grown. In the afternoon she spent time with Aunt Lucretia, who instructed her in the duties of a gentlewoman. Once a week this included a visit from a Stroud solicitor to help her learn the legal aspects of being a wealthy property owning witch. In the early evening, she sat with Sirius and Lucretia as they went over family business documents. In between they planned Arrakis’ birthday party.

This was not to say that the party was a minor consideration. All kinds of trouble could come out of inviting the wrong people to a party for the birthday Girl Who Lived. She wanted both Hermione and Millicent. Hermione wouldn’t care, but Millicent might. She was so closemouthed that even after a year’s acquaintance she wasn’t sure how much weight her roommate gave to blood status.

As for other possible guests, the peers she knew best were Slytherin. And if she didn’t invite Draco, the Malfoys would feel slighted.

“It will have to be a family only party, my dear. Having the Malfoys and the Tonkses at the same table will provide plenty of tension, but that’s what family is like.” Lucretia gave the impression that melodrama was a Black staple that added savour to a meal.

“I’ll ask Millicent to stay the night and Hermione to go to Diagon Alley with me to get school supplies.”

“That is well thought out. Miss Bulstrode should visit the weekend you have the others over to play Quidditch, but she can stay the night and go home the next day.”

Arrakis wrote later to Hermione, ‘The last year at Hogwarts seems restful in comparison, but I know when we return I’ll be even busier and have to write essays on top of it. I’ve received my book list. Uncle Sirius is very sceptical of the works of Mr. Lockhart. Madame Oyunskaya says when a man is impressive, others talk of him though he remains silent. Her Russian accent was strong.’

Even the dust had hardly a moment’s rest as Sirius completed restoring their wing of the manor. The conservatory quickly became a favourite place for all members of the house. He had rebuilt it with the latest refinements of magical architecture to allow the outside to air to circulate through the plants so that birds and insects could interact with them, yet be kept separated from people. They began eating breakfast there regularly. It was pleasant to sip one’s tea and watch a bee gather nectar from a flower without any concern for disturbing each other.

Formerly Sirius had eaten his breakfast at the lake cottage, but now he joined them nearly every day. “I should set up some hives,” he mused. “I’ll have to add that to the plans. Honey is near magical on its own; have the bees gather from magical plants and it becomes truly so.” Light filtering through leaves shone on his face and found some of his youth that had survived Azkaban.

He found Arrakis watching him and smiled back. “I’m not wildly spending all our money, kiddo.” His eyes gleamed. “Just some of it. I call it my indiscretionary budget. What did you think of the Malfoy estate?”

“It’s very… luxurious.” Arrakis nibbled her lower lip. “Cousin Narcissa has good taste.”

Sirius chuckled. “You are an adorable little politician. Did you hear that, Mrs. Prewett?”

Lucretia’s amusement shaded her voice. “She was unobjectionably polite.”

Arrakis’ cheeks warmed. Her opinion did no harm here, but she didn’t want to offend the Malfoys who had put a lot of effort into entertaining their guests. It had been an enjoyable day; now that it was done she understood what Sirius had meant about preferring the forest to the jungle. The jungle had Rolle Avery in it.

“Oh, I’ll find something jolly polite to say about it. I’ll write a thank you note today. Arrakis, write yours and I will enclose it in mine. Let me see, perhaps: ‘never have I seen such a big peacock spout off in my entire life.’”

Arrakis nearly spit out her tea.

“Sirius, really. Do be discreet,” Lucretia murmured.

Oyunskaya and Bevan Hughes did not compete in who could work Arrakis the hardest. That would have been too simple, too gentle, too merciful. They cooperated. Hughes quickly saw that dance training had a lot of benefits for Quidditch. The main missing element was working with the various balls. “An effective player knows something about all the positions. I agree that you are best suited for Seeker, but what if the team has a better Seeker? You stand a better chance of being a reserve player if you have more utility. Knowing how a good team of Beaters works shows you how to defend yourself and take advantage of your own team’s Beaters’ ability to protect you. Any time you catch sight of another player, you want to know what they’re doing. If a Beater is looking at you, she’s thinking of hitting a Bludger your way.”

Not content with observing, Oyunskaya turned up with her own broom. She got out of their way and began working out with the broom stick as if it were a barre. Hughes and Arrakis paused to watch how she switched grips while swinging around it. She even hung suspended by just her crooked foot. She mounted again by bending herself double to put her hands back up on the broom by her foot.

Hughes shook her head. “My poor back. I couldn’t have done that when I was your age, let alone her age.”

They went through Bludger dodging drills next. As much as Arrakis was tempted to dive into the water to escape, that would not be an option on a Quidditch pitch. Besides, water logged down broom bristles and could make the broom sluggish and difficult to handle. Charms to repel rain were not very effective against a dunking.

31st July was a Friday. Mrs. Malfoy, Draco, Mrs. Tonks, and Nymphadora came to Arrakis’ birthday dinner. It had been politically decided to not force the ex-Death Eater (under Imperius (legally)) and the Muggleborn wizard to share a table for such a trivial celebration as a twelve year old girl’s birthday dinner.

Arrakis wore an ivory muslin dress with a skirt that flared from under a broad green satin sash tied in an intricate bow. The abalone shell combs drew her hair back from her face. Her posture was perfect. It had to be, it was the only way she could sit with the sash tied so snugly. It made the most and a little more of what figure she had. Staring in the mirror, she traced the hint of swell at hip and breast. If she was changing from the lean, straight creature she was before, at least her waist could look slender.

It was a polite dinner, with the occasional breach of etiquette by Tonks (inadvertent) and Sirius (on purpose.) They teamed up after dinner to work the group into a relaxed mood. The two most resistant parties were Narcissa and Andromeda, who treated each other with exquisitely modulated wariness. Arrakis had to admire the way Andromeda could use casual bluntness to undercut Narcissa’s aristocratic poise. Andromeda had not lost her understanding of Black family ways; she had added Tonks and now had more tools at her disposal. 

“I seem to recall this is a birthday celebration.” Lucretia effortlessly dominated the gathering. “Arrakis, let us see what the family has given you.”

The presents had waited on a table, clearly visible but socially unseen until now. Arrakis began with Narcissa’s present. It was a cameo of Circe, carved from layered sardonyx with a ribbon of shimmery acromantula silk that had threads of colour echoing the hues of the stone. “Cousin Narcissa, it’s exquisite. Thank you.” 

She smiled at Narcissa and, as signalled, kissed the woman’s marble cheek.

“That is a lovely piece, Narcissa, dear. She can wear that all her life,” Lucretia approved.

Draco’s present was tandem with Narcissa’s, but less valuable and personal in keeping with his years and gender: a butterfly hairclip. The butterfly, an emerald swallowtail, was animated, flexing its wings, occasionally taking off and flying a few seconds before settling into her hair again. The butterfly was a nod to Circe, often pictured with a butterfly tipped wand signifying her power of transfiguration.

She did not kiss Draco.

Tonks gave her an Auror quality wand holster, and Andromeda, a boar bristle brush. The bristles had come from a Calydonian boar, a magical beast with the power to burst through wild undergrowth. A brush made with them was never caught in tangles. It was an antique piece, the handle made of ebony with mother of pearl inlay in the shape of a wand.

Lucretia raised an eyebrow at this, but made no comment. Later she told Arrakis that it was a minor family heirloom originally given Andromeda by Cassiopeia. It was a fine piece, that Lucretia would have expected to be passed to Nymphadora. Perhaps the animagus had little use for it. Arrakis, with the Potter influence on her hair, found it a pleasure to use.

Sirius’ present, though he hinted at more to be unveiled tomorrow, was a pair of jet earrings, shaped like the heraldic hound badge seen on the entry to Black Manor. She put them on right away to please him.

Lucretia’s present was a trip to Paris to attend the ballet. “Next weekend, my dear. It has all been arranged. Miss Oyunskaya will accompany us.” She gave Sirius an arch look that Arrakis had never seen her use before. “And if we are fortunate, there shall be a little something extra.”

  
Draco was staying overnight. In the long twilight, they walked in the garden. It looked hardly more than a patch of waste land compared to the Malfoy’s estate, but the house-elves had tended the roses and they were blooming sparsely though in great variety. Their scents mingled on the warm air.

So of course, they talked mostly about Quidditch. She had put the butterfly clip in her hair, and every so often he would be distracted and watch it.

“It’s charming on you, but don’t wear it to classes. Except History—I bet it would sleep in there.”

“It’s lovely, Draco, thank you again. I’ve never had such a nice party before.”

“Or so many relatives in one room. Tonks is… not what I expected an auror to be.”

“She’s not like anyone else,” Arrakis said fondly.

They talked more about how to divide up the players coming tomorrow between teams. An early bedtime was called for to handle the busy Quidditch filled weekend coming.

Sirius had set up Quidditch scoring rings and made a small pitch up the shore from his cottage. It wasn’t as nice as the Malfoys, but was fine to train in. It also gave Draco the pleasure of being gracious about it, which kept him in a good mood. The group had been hard to get together and twelve was the best they could do in insisting on having only their year mates. Draco had helped recruit players, and they had exchanged a lot of owls over the list. All the Slytherin first year boys were there, but Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass were not interested in playing Quidditch. That left Arrakis, Millicent Bulstrode, and Tracey Davis.

It was a measure of Hogwarts house rivalry that it had been difficult to find three more players. Draco brought in Mauricius Lacaille from Ravenclaw, describing him as a very distant cousin. He looked like Draco in a very strange way, as if someone had made a clay sculpture out of Draco’s face but hadn’t finished refining the details, with hair a darker shade of blonde and eyes a colder shade of blue. Lacaille had a hard face for a twelve year old and Arrakis had only spoken to him once before this.

Leland Runcorn had brought Oliver Rivers and Sophie Roper from Hufflepuff to fill up the last spots. Draco’s nose had wrinkled a little when he told Arrakis about this; she assumed it was his dislike of resorting to Hufflepuffs. Runcorn always seemed out of step with the other Slytherin boys. She could see him bringing in a Hufflepuff player for the fun of irking Draco. It’s not like they were going to invite Ronald Weasley or any of his thuggish little Gryffindor friends. Rivers and Roper were a little nervous to find themselves surrounded by Slytherins, but keen on Quidditch and decent on broomsticks.

Try as they might to find two more, the combined factors of ‘would accept an invitation from a Slytherin to a Slytherin home’ and ‘wants to play Quidditch and is halfway decent on a broom’ and ‘not a Gryffindor or Muggleborn.’ Arrakis would have been glad to have a Muggleborn. It had made her angry that she had to exclude them, but trying to enact social reforms and play Quidditch was an invitation for some meanly aimed Bludgers. At least Hermione Granger disliked flying, so Arrakis didn’t have to regret not inviting her.

The rules for the practice were given by Mrs. Hughes. Draco was captain of one team, and Millicent the other (deferred to by Arrakis). They drew the other names out of a cup, assigning Seeker, Chaser, Beater, Chaser, Beater. The captain could be Keeper, or switch with any other member of the team. Then for the next game, they would all shift roles.

Arrakis started as a Chaser. Millicent elected to stay Keeper as she had drawn Crabbe as Beater. The morning games were on half-hour timer Snitches. The afternoon would be a real game, except that it would end at 5pm, even if the Snitch had not been caught.

Even with as little experience as she had playing, and allowing for her superior broom, she was among the best of the fliers. For the others, Draco and Millicent were good, as was Oliver Rivers. Leland Runcorn was agile with a broom, but made moves like he was on his own team, or playing another game entirely. Nor did he much care if his crazy ploys didn’t work out. 

At the end of practice he jumped from his broom into the lake. Sirius dragged him out, scolding and trying not to laugh.

With that example, the boys campaigned for a swim in the lake to cool down before lunch. Arrakis, Millicent, Sophie, and Tracey went back to the house. They stripped down together and had a herb infused soak in Arrakis’ tub. It fit the four of them easily. They all pretended they were above body shyness. The pretense led to camaraderie and pretty soon they were comparing breast size and talking about the mysteries of puberty. Sophie was an 'early developer'. Millicent had been given the same guide that Arrakis had, but Tracey had been given one written in the last ten years. She took pride in giving them ‘modern facts’.

They wrapped up in fluffy robes and puttered about getting dressed. Tracey was disappointed that Arrakis only had clear nail varnish. She pacified Tracey by giving her a quick manicure.

“I used to help Mother Black with her hands. She couldn’t bear for them to be less than perfectly kempt.”

“What are you—oh, that feels nice.” Tracey blinked down at Arrakis’ hands kneading her own.

“Gripping the broomstick stiffens them up. Millicent, shall I do yours as well?”

Someone knocked at the door.

Millicent opened the door a crack. “What do you want, Runcorn?”

“What are you doing in there?”

“Girl stuff.”

“Good, let me in.”

Millicent looked over her shoulder. The girls exchanged glances, shrugged, and let him in.

“Boys are smelly today.” Runcorn walked in. “This is so much better.” It was definitely Leland Runcorn. The face was the same, but the hair had been arranged differently and lent a different aspect.

“I’m doing their nails. Do you want yours done?” 

“Yes. That’s one of Black’s, isn’t it Davis, that dress? May I borrow one too?”

Again the conversation of glances.

“Tracey, would you be so kind as to help Runcorn look? Millicent, let me do your hands now. Luncheon will be served soon.” Arrakis worked over Millicent’s square hands. Her manicure set was charmed, so it didn’t take long to shape and paint the nails. She rubbed lotion into her wrists. Millicent sighed. Her powerful figure came close to languor.

Runcorn had boy’s underpants, but at their age it hardly mattered. That slim, wiry figure fitted Arrakis’ blue linen dress better than Tracey’s choice did her. The shoes were another matter. Sophie managed to adjust a pair of sandals to fit well enough. She was a little plump and did not even ask to try on any of Arrakis’ dresses. She'd brought her own sundress in cheerful yellow.

“You look more like a girl than I do, Runcorn,” said Millicent.

Arrakis shook her head. “That’s not true. Just because you don’t fit into the conventional mold doesn’t make you unwomanly.”

“Leave pink to Pansy Parkinson,” Tracey advised.

Runcorn was looking into the mirror with a gratified expression. “You are nothing like a boy, Bulstrode. Unless you want to be. But it would take some work.”

The Runcorns were an old wizarding family, but not one that had much concerned Arrakis’ education in pedigrees. She couldn’t recall anything interesting about them, and wizards were never so dull.

“So do we call you he or she?” asked Millicent, getting up to let Runcorn sit down for a manicure.

“Let’s go with ‘she’ today. But it’s not the only day I regret picking the boy’s dorm. At least I’m in with Nott and Zabini.”

Millicent brushed her hair while Arrakis did Runcorn’s nails. 

Lunch was laid out as a buffet in the conservatory. The boys were already there. Under the eyes of Oyunskaya and Mrs. Hughes, they were scattered about grazing on the food offerings and reliving the morning’s Quidditch. Oliver Rivers was sitting by himself, looking towards the door.

The girls sauntered in. Arrakis was in the lead. She caught Madame Oyunskaya’s eye straight away, and tilted her head towards Runcorn. Oyunskaya took in Runcorn and gave a little nod. They began chatting with the others as the girls fixed themselves plates of food and found places to sit. Runcorn sat down with Theo and Blaise. Theo buttoned himself up tighter than Professor Snape’s sleeves. Blaise smiled urbanely. “Signorina, taste the lemon sorbet. It’s delightful.” Runcorn demurely crossed her ankles and applied her spoon.

Arrakis murmured to Madame Oyunskaya, “She… just showed up.”

“We are magical beings, my dear. It takes a hidebound mind to force one of our own to one shape.”

Tracey Davis sat down with Oliver Rivers, who managed to look both relieved and uncomfortable at the same time. That was the mien of someone who no longer had to keep an awkward secret. If the Hufflepuff boy knew anything interesting, Tracey would have it out of him. She had cut her teeth in the company of Parkinson and Greengrass.

Whatever Tracey found out, she had no opportunity to share it with Arrakis. The afternoon’s hard fought Quidditch game ended with Arrakis catching the Snitch after three hours of play. The participants all cooled off in the lake while their picnic supper was being set out by the lake cottage. They were sent in groups into the cottage to change into dry clothes. Sirius hesitated a moment, glancing at the other girls when Runcorn moved to join them, then let them pass without any comment. Arrakis told Runcorn to keep the dress and shoes if she wanted to wear them home.

She’d had her grand day of Quidditch. Now Arrakis did her duty as a Black and circulated among the guests. “It was so good to see you again” “We’ll all meet at Hogwarts again, soon” “It was lovely to have you over” “Thank you, I had such fun” She spoke to everyone. It was exhausting. How did the hosts make it through such a big party as the Malfoys had thrown?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Runcorn. Well. I started out with the idea of being more representational, then Runcorn showed up. I hope I handled them with sensitivity. There is a hint that gender presentation has a significance to magic, so someone who is gender-fluid could have a different impact. Oyunskaya's complaisance does not signal the opinion of all wizards. Aristocracy is based in the transmission of power from parent to child, and alliances by marriage. Thus we have Arrakis, who in this perception is a marital prize (if one overlooks that inconvenient Muggleborn mum from the top of her giant pile of Potter-Black money.)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aunt Lucretia takes Arrakis to France. They go to see the 'Sleeping Beauty' ballet and Arrakis gets an extra and delightful surprise.

When the guests were gone except for Millicent, the two girls said good night to Aunt Lucretia and went to their rooms. Arrakis had never been so glad that Millicent Bulstrode was no chatterbox. They played a few rounds of Gobstones. Arrakis had never liked it much, but she played her best to give Millicent a challenge. She was not at all surprised to lose.

The half moon rose above the horizon, lending its glow to Arrakis’ sky wall. They sat in her window seat with the room lights out so they could look at the stars. Out towards the marsh, they could see a couple flickering flames. “Oh, hinkypunks again. There’s a barrier against them. They won’t come closer than that.”

“That one is.” Millicent pointed to a location nearer their window.

“That’s a ghost. I’ve seen him searching there. He doesn’t speak to people.”

“What’s his story?”

“No one seems to know. He avoids the living.”

“It’s not a Muggle ghost, is it?”

“No, he seems aware but chooses not to speak. Once, on meeting me, he bowed politely. I wonder what time is like to a ghost when they no longer sleep or eat? Perhaps that’s why Professor Binns sticks around, because without his teaching routine he has nothing.”

They fell silent for a while. The silent ghost drifted out of sight past the stable ruins.

“Tomorrow I want to practice ballroom dancing. Like the waltz. Good?”

Arrakis considered the big girl sitting next to her. Millicent was still staring out the window. “That’s fine with me. I don’t think Madame Oyunskaya will mind. You are our guest.”

The fun of having a sleep-over was to sleep in the same bed and talk idly. It had been easy with Hermione, who always had something on her mind. She had fallen asleep to the other girl talking, impolite and inevitable. Millicent was no babbling brook; she was a still pond in which ripples broke when some fish rose to take a fly. “Runcorn’s going to be a weird boy now.”

“I can’t unsee the change,” Arrakis admitted.

“Runcorn didn’t change.”

Arrakis lay quietly while her mind unpacked this. If Runcorn didn’t change, who did? Those who now knew Runcorn better. She rubbed the sheet between her thumb and forefinger. Runcorn, being Slytherin, had planned to use this Quidditch party for that revelation. Was she going to hold that against him-her-them? What would be the point? She was wealthy but grudges were expensive in more valuable resources than gold.

“I am a bit miffed,” she vented. “But it’s no problem of mine.”

There was a long pause before Millicent, to be polite, said, “No.”

Round and round they tottered before the flashing mirror. His turban was coming unwound. Desperately, she pushed him away, shoved hard at his face closing on her, as his eyes bulged and his skin cracked open.

She shot bolt upright, screaming, and Millicent thumped her with a pillow. It was a well-filled pillow and she went half over the edge of the bed. She clung, panting. Her nightgown stuck to her clammy skin.

Millicent’s voice cut through the darkness. “You were hitting me. Are you done?”

“Yes. Sorry. Yes.”

The door opened to a bright light. Arrakis lost her grip and tumbled to the floor.

“Anyone hurt?” Madame Oyunskaya lit the bedroom lights.

“Sorry to wake you, Madame. It was a nightmare. I fell off the side of the bed. Millicent, did I hurt you?” Arrakis didn’t get up yet.

“You don’t hit hard enough for that.”

“Oh? All right, then. I am very sorry, all the same.” Arrakis got her knees under her and looked over the edge of the bed. The lamp light set Millicent’s peach coloured nightgown a-glow. Her face was in comparative darkness.

“I thought the pillow would wake you up without hurting you.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s not time to get up, Arrashka.” Oyunskaya came closer. “You look chilled. Come change your nightgown before you lie down again.”

Millicent plumped her pillow and curled up around it. Her face sank into it. The one visible eye closed.

The trip to Paris was like walking into a dream. Lucretia mainly stayed in their suite in the hotel Le Pavillon de la Reine or visited the in house spa. It was Oyunskaya who took her shopping. In the magic district, they saw young wizards and witches shopping for their school supplies for Beauxbatons. Arrakis still regretted not being able to go there. She imagined herself mingling with those chic girls, her French polished by speaking it for the school year. They visited a French coiffeuse who agreed that the Japanese lotion was working well for Arrakis. She gave her a subtly different cut, and showed her a new way of doing a ballet bun. The new cut made her hair fall into soft waves framing her face—including the infamous lightning bolt scar. Here in France, she didn’t attract much attention, but they recognised the scar. The coiffeuse was careful not to touch it.

Arrakis bought only a few items of clothing. She would have little use for non-uniform clothes during the school year, and might grow out of them, either up or out. Out was definitely starting. Every step on a staircase, every sauté and jeté, woke a jiggle of flesh on her chest. Oyunskaya bought soft brassieres that would last Arrakis a year unless developments were more sudden than either of them expected. The most exciting clothing purchase was a formal gown to wear to the ballet—chiffon, white with a hint of lilac to please Lucretia, whose favourite colour it was.

Lucretia was dressed to the nines, with her iron grey hair put up in an elegant chignon that showed off how graceful her neck was despite her years. Her gown was a smoky silver colour with mauve accents, including elbow length satin gloves and she was formidably arrayed in jewels. With Oyunskaya wearing a shimmery pearl grey sheath, they made a striking trio. Arrakis was disappointed when they were not taken to the grand front entrance of the Palais Garnier. Instead, the limousine let them out on a side street. Oyunskaya went confidently to a door and got them let in backstage. Arrakis forgot all about couture gowns and jewels; all her heart envied the dancers in their costumes.

Afraid of getting in the way of the artists, she stayed close to Lucretia. “I never dreamed we would come backstage. Thank you so much, Aunt Lucretia. This is wonderful.”

Lucretia smiled. “Speak French, chéri. It is the language of ballet.”

“Je m’en souviendrai.” When everyone was speaking French around her, it was easy to fall into the language. They were more slangy than the formal style of French she spoke at home. She would have learnt that at Beauxbatons—

But farewell regret! Oyunskaya presented them to Rudolf Nureyev. Arrakis dropped into a deep ballet curtsy, glad now of her satin flats and her simple ballet bun. The Maestro smiled kindly and kissed her hand and Aunt Lucretia’s. Everything was a blur after that until she found herself in her seat and heard the orchestra playing the overture. She held her breath during the poses of the Rose Adagio as the ballerina balanced on one foot en pointe to pirouette with each of her four suitors. Her muscles tensed and quivered in imitation of the effortless effort.

After the curtain had lowered and all the flowers had been thrown to the performers, Arrakis trailed dreamily after Oyunskaya and Lucretia. The older woman was now accompanied by a French wizard who escorted them to a wizard space room in the theatre. He offered Oyunskaya a worn out pointe shoe. “Your portkey will activate in about five minutes, my ladies. I hope you have enjoyed your stay in France.” They thanked him and he left.

“I can’t believe we met Nureyev himself. Oyunskaya, you know him?” Arrakis sighed rapturously.

“I’ve met him a few times, but it was Mrs. Prewett who sealed the deal.”

Lucretia giggled. “Dear heart, I donated a large sum to the ballet company, in your name and mine. Ballet is art, but dancers and musicians and stagehands must eat. Monsieur Nureyev is a great artiste, and it is an honour to support his work. But Zoya, what did he say to you in Russian?”

“Oh, he asked me to give my father his regards, and then he said,” she glanced slyly at Arrakis, “That you had a good shape for ballet if you didn’t grow out of it, and an expressive face. But since you were looking at him like he was a god, you wouldn’t have understood it if he’d said it in English. And then I promised I would work you hard.”

Arrakis blushed hard for the compliment, and had to acknowledge that she hadn’t heard a word once she realised to whom she was being introduced.

The portkey returned them to the Ministry. Lucretia refused to take the Floo on top of the portkey; she’d arranged for the Rolls to be waiting for them. Sirius got out of the back as they approached. “Well, don’t I feel shabby! I should have put on my best dress robes to pick you ladies up.” He held the door for them, grinning. Lucretia swept past with a disdainful sniff. Arrakis couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen her in such good humour. She hadn’t resorted to that nasty little vial all night. They went home to 12 Grimmauld Place. Kreacher had starched his tea towel to honour their return. Arrakis lay down to sleep in her childhood bed. It had always been too big, it still was, it had not changed an iota—nevertheless, it had shrunk.

Lucretia was not feeling well the next day. Arrakis sat with her for an hour in the morning, and an hour in the afternoon, reading from a novel that had been racy fifty years ago. She was not sure why Lucretia laughed at certain passages.

“You’re not too young to know something of love, my dear. Romance novels always dress up sex in fancy clothes. Two naked bodies in bed are a lot more like slabs of raw meat than you would think. Raw, ah, there’s a good old euphemism for naked.”

“It seems rather silly.”

“Don’t be prim, Arrakis. You belong to an ancient family. We all got here the same way, hauled naked and yowling from our mothers’ bodies. Then there’s a year or so of lying helpless in your own filth and wailing for help. Learning to clean yourself is only the start of years of learning how to manage your body. Romance is the element that helps you bare your mortal flesh before another human being.” She started to cough. “Silly? It’s unbelievably silly. So. You laugh.” She kept coughing, dragging a handkerchief up before her mouth.

“Let me Floo call for a healer for you, Aunt Lucretia.”

Lucretia lay back against her pillows. Her breath still caught at her throat.

Arrakis left a message for Lucretia’s healer to visit her as soon as possible. She then went in search of Sirius to let him know, and found he’d left. She called for Kreacher.

“Do you know where Mr. Black is, Kreacher?”

“Mr. Black left a note for Mrs. Prewett on her desk and went out an hour ago, little Miss.”

“Mrs. Prewett is feeling ill and I’ve asked a healer to come visit her. Please bring me the note.”

Sirius’ note was short and casual: ‘Called to the Ministry. I won’t be at supper.”

“Blast supper.” Arrakis folded the note and tucked it under her sash. “I will be with Mrs. Prewett. This is Miss Oyunskaya’s free day; if she returns this evening, let her know where I am. Please listen for the Floo and bring up the healer when she arrives. If Mr. Black arrives, send him up. I’ll take tea in Mrs. Prewett’s room. Be sure to use the chamomile she likes.”

  
In the few minutes that Arrakis had spent away, Lucretia had grown worse. Her breaths beat at her body as if her ribs were clubs.

“Aunt Lucretia, are you out of the potion you’ve been using? Can I send for more?”

“No good, now.”

Arrakis helped her sip a little tea with rose honey stirred in.

“Our trip to Paris was lovely. The happiest I’ve been since I was a bride. Who saw a shining future ahead of her. Prewett never reproached me. He would not hear of dissolving our union.” Another spasm of coughing began.

“Don’t try to talk, Aunt Lucretia. The healer will be here soon.”

“Walburga. Knew. That bitch. Clever.” She laughed once like a parrot imitating a human.

The healer came in and swept Arrakis aside. Arrakis stood by the tea table and ate a sandwich while the healer’s wand made brisk passes over the bed. Healer and patient held a quiet conversation until the healer raised her voice. “Mrs. Prewett, I brought the Solamen potion with me. Surely you will reconsider.”

“No. I expected this.”

The woman sounded exasperated. “How about the anti-hiccough potion? Is that too much?”

“Yes. I’ll make do with tea.”

Arrakis quickly brought the cup.

“Arrakis, Healer Meadows will need my desk. Sirius?”

The choppy sentences were more alarming than coughs. Lucretia was saving her strength.

“Called to the Ministry.”

Lucretia grimaced. “Your godfather is unlucky. Send Kreacher for Miss Oyunskaya. Send an owl to Mr. Stroud. He’ll know.” She took the tea cup into shaky hands and sipped.

Arrakis escorted Healer Meadows to Lucretia’s elegant little office. It was tidy as always, with the family business under lock and key. Lucretia’s elegant black swan feather quill waited with a box of casual stationery.

“I have to write my report… Miss Black, is there anyone else in the house?”

“Not right now, but they will be home soon. I’m sending for my chaperon. Shall I send up tea?”

“I’m on duty. or I’d ask for whiskey. No, thank you.”

Arrakis left her to it and sent off message and messenger as bid. She waited by the fireplace. The house grew still around her until the silence sang in her ears. Her breath rustled her clothes like an autumn wind.

Kreacher broke the silence with his apparation. “Kreacher found Miss Oyunskaya, and she is returning, Miss.”

“I’m also expecting someone from the law firm. Mr. Black isn’t home yet. I will go up to Mrs. Prewett, please wait for them.” She pinched out the words before hurrying back upstairs to Aunt Lucretia.

Lucretia’s skin had paled another few shades closer to the colour of her sheets. When Arrakis came in, she was paging through the romance novel. “Come sit down, Arrakis.”

“Miss Oyunskaya—”

“Sit.” She indicated the chair.

Arrakis sat in it. She noticed a stain of dull red on Lucretia’s chin. The room was cold; was too cold.

Lucretia handed her the book. “Read from that page.”

Arrakis took the awful book and began to read. Her voice had a tendency to choke and slur that she could not control.   
  
“’ _Twenty years and five children later, she could look back on how they met and loved and wed, but there was a veil between the wife-mother-now and the girl-bride-then._   
  
"' _The enchantment of their passion had faded and the love that took its place needed no charms. She had not noticed the sprouted acorn until the tree became a sturdy sapling. Estrella laughed when her husband pretended he could still span her waist with his two hands. His raven black hair greyed and receded at the temples but she found him more handsome than the young men her daughter introduced to them._

“' _How could her children have this love if they didn’t have to fight for it? How could they understand how much better it was? As magical as it is to fly, even the far-ranging albatross returns at last to the shore._

“’ _Estrella touched the scarred sigil that Fiendfyre had licked onto her arm. She had resented the mark of the dark wizard’s possessive desire. She’d covered the hideous thing with bangles and gloves. He was long dead, ever cursed be his name. All that was left was this reminder that she and Evard had fought for each other, and for freedom. Now it was the sign of her victory. Omnia vincit amor._ ’”

She looked resentfully at Lucretia. "' _Fin_.'”

Lucretia smirked at her. “Bathetic?”

“I thought that was to be expected of romances.”

“Oh, so haughty. Walpurga taught that. Silliness is…” She choked on the words, coughing, but her eyes never left Arrakis.

Arrakis had heard this before. “’—is part of human nature. Even the great are not great at every moment of their lives.’ I could sew a sampler.” There was red at Lucretia’s mouth again. Regretting her snippy temper, she went to her knees by the bed. “I’d sew a dozen if it pleased you.”

“Tea. Honey.”

Arrakis brought her the requested cup and helped her hold it. When Lucretia finished drinking, Arrakis settled back into the chair. She could see Lucretia gathering her strength.

“Never as much time as one thinks. Fool. Remember. Didn’t want you to know. Silly.” Lucretia made a motion with her hand and Arrakis took it. 

There was a tap at the door. It was Oyunskaya, with Artagan Stroud, and the healer. Arrakis kept a firm grip of Lucretia’s hand. “Please come in, Mrs. Prewett is expecting you.”

Lucretia pulled her hand free. “Zoya. Please.”

Oyunskaya came forward and drew Arrakis from the chair. “Come, Arrashka. You have done all for Mrs. Prewett that you can do.”

“You’ve done well, Arrakis, thank you. Now go.” The command in Lucretia’s voice was faint, but still strong enough to impel her out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any interest, I recommend looking for videos of the Rose Adagio on YouTube. Ballerinas are badass. Also, Rudolf Nureyev is magical, fight me. I did my best to search for information on what was going on where for ballets in August 1992. I'm grateful to be living in the Internet age. When I was a little child, authors had to go to the library or send physical mail to people to bug them for information. Uphill both ways in the snow. I have added a tag for minor character death--I only thought of it with this posting.  
> "Je m'en souviendrai" is 'I will remember'--I hope. As always, any failure to correctly describe ballet is ALL MY FAULT.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrakis grieves for Aunt Lucretia and attends the reading of her will. She finds out what kept Sirius at the Ministry.

She left the door to her room open so that she would hear any activity in the hall. Arrakis stood by her bed and let Oyunskaya wipe her tear-streaked face with a damp flannel.

“You knew she was… that sick.”

“She knew. That’s why she engaged me to be your chaperon. Mrs. Prewett did not explain how she knew, or the nature of her ailment. I have gathered that it is of the same cause that brought down other members of the family since Arcturus Black died, and perhaps before that. The Blacks are noticeably short-lived for wizards.”

“A blood curse?”

“Perhaps.”

“And now, we just… wait?” Arrakis looked at the clock. There was no hand for seconds. The minutes lingered out their sixty, then each was done, finished, gone forever.

“I toured with the company one winter. It was the Nutcracker, inevitably. All the little theatres want the Nutcracker for the holidays. I was rooming with a seamstress, who was pregnant. I came back to the room after the show, and she was curled up in bed, groaning. Her baby was coming earlier than expected. I went with her to the hospital; otherwise she would have been alone. Sometimes a baby comes fast, but not this one. It took hours. She bruised my hand, squeezing it. I thought it had all gone wrong, and that the baby would die, and maybe the mother too. I didn’t know any midwifery and I had no potions even if I dared to give her one. There was nothing to do but wait.”

“Did it die?”

“Not then. It was an ugly little wrinkled red thing with a thin squall. They gave it to her to hold and she looked as happy as I’ve ever seen anyone look.” Oyunskaya leaned against the door and arched her back to stretch.

“What happened?”

“I checked to be sure all was well, then I went back to the hotel so I could let the show runners know what had happened. After that, I went to bed and slept the day through. I had to wake up and be on stage within an hour that night.”

“The woman and the baby?”

“I never saw them again.” She smirked at Arrakis.

“Is this you being Russian?”

“The point is, little Miss Arrashka Black, is that I was waiting for something to end, and she was waiting for something to begin.”

Arrakis got the point, stabby little point that it was. “I think I’ll lie down.” She took her shoes off and curled up on the bed. She fell asleep despite herself.

When she woke, Sirius in his dog form was asleep on the floor by the half-open door.

Arrakis slid off the bed and stood over him. “Where were you?”

His head jerked up, the ears swivelling towards her. He rose, shifting to his human form on the way. She knew before she saw the look on his face; she knew why he was guarding her door. Aunt Lucretia was dead.

The lights in her room were dimmed. A pearly light shone through the net curtains casting a ghostly glow over Sirius. He raked his mane back from his face. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here with you, Arrakis. The Ministry called me in. They, he… I need something. Ask Kreacher to bring us tea.”

“I don’t want tea,” she said spitefully.

Sirius winced. “All right then. In school, I was friends with your father, Peter Fuckface Pettigrew, and Remus Lupin. When we were setting up the protections for your family to go into hiding, we didn’t trust Remus because of … rumours he’d been involved in some shady activities.

“Yesterday afternoon, Remus came into the department of Magical Law Enforcement and said he was reporting an unregistered Animagus. They asked him the name of the wizard, and he said ‘Peter Pettigrew’. Of course, the person on desk duty was an idiot and didn’t immediately recognise the name from the most wanted list—they still believed he was dead. So he asked Remus what was the suspect’s form, and he said, ‘This.’ He pulled a stunned rat out of his pocket, tossed it to the floor, cast the Homorphus charm on it, and there was Peter Pettigrew.

“After that, there was the mother of all ruckuses. I got called in to assist in identifying both Lupin and Pettigrew. They had put Lupin in a cell, too, because, well, because he’d trespassed on the Weasley property to get his hands on the rat. For years now, Pettigrew has been living as the Weasley family pet. Apparently all these years Lupin has been searching shady and dangerous places for him, and there he was fat and happy in Ottery St. Catchpole. He’d even gone to live at Hogwarts, first with Percy Weasley, and last year with his younger brother Ron.”

Arrakis had lost her anger in listening to the unexpected tale. Now she was merely stunned.

Sirius waited a moment for her to say something. When she didn’t, he continued. “So they kept me hours. At least they were getting it through their thick skulls at last that I was innocent of the crime that sent me to Azkaban.” He smiled a smile she had not seen since Mother Black had died. “Pettigrew can have my cell. But with Animagus restraints.” He cleared his throat. “I’m registered now. With your father gone, and Pettigrew unmasked, the oath circle is undone, and I could admit it.”

Arrakis finally found her tongue. “What happens now?”

“Right now, I’m spending time with you. I’m so sorry you had to go through that without me. I knew Mrs. Prewett had been ill, but everything seemed fine when you came back from Paris. “ He leaned against the door frame. “I didn’t know her well when I was a boy living here. She and my mother would correspond instead of meeting up. There was some kind of low key feud that my mother enjoyed.” He frowned. “I think a lot of it had to do with my mother having had two sons and Mrs. Prewett, well, never had any, until you.”

She nodded. That sounded like Mother Black, who relished having the upper hand over others.

“Until this summer, when you were both staying at Black Manor, I was worried you didn’t have much love growing up. I’m glad I was wrong.” Tears overflowed her eyes again and Sirius tucked her against his side. “I’m so sorry, kiddo. I can’t take her place, but I’ll try my best to fill mine.”

The awful day had been prepared for in advance. Owls were sent with the news to widespread relatives of the family, and to the Daily Prophet. Lucretia had left letters to be sent to various Muggle arts organisations that only needed a touch of the wand to fill in the date. Lastly, notifications were sent out to heirs named in Lucretia’s will. Like that of her father, it would be read at sunset, and followed by the wake.

Again she wore the funeral garb she’d assumed for Grandfather. He had been feeble for months, and his death was no surprise. Did she love Aunt Lucretia that it hurt so much more? Or was it only that the last of her childhood was going? Sirius was still something of a stranger. Oyunskaya’s was a different relationship, of teacher and student. Now they were all she had.

The ‘going away’ dress that Lucretia had worn after her wedding still fit her lean body. Mr. Stroud had brought the old fashioned pearl set that she had used that long ago day and would take to the tomb with her. She was laid out in the same room that had seen the departure of her father not quite a year ago. Again, Arrakis lit the candles, and began her watch by the bier.

She expected the Malfoys. They greeted her with the proper silent acknowledgement, and were shown into the next room by Sirius.

She didn’t expect the Weasleys. The prefect one, the twins, Ronald, and a little sister wore black school robes. Mr. Weasley had a black suit, and Mrs. Weasley wore a navy blue dress under an open black robe. As they were plainly acknowledging the sobriety of the occasion, Arrakis did not care they were shabby. They showed respect, which was more important. She kept a wary eye on the twins. For once, they looked appropriately serious.

Ronald looked in her direction. She didn’t react, and he whispered to his mother, who scolded him in a low voice and herded her children into the other room. The older Weasleys made silent bows to Arrakis and followed their children.

Arrakis was glad she wasn’t in there trying to keep peace between the Malfoys and the Weasleys.

There were more people here for Lucretia’s will than there had been for Arcturus. Andromeda and Tonks came through, followed by her husband. Tonks had black hair. The colour kept leaking into her skin.

The sunset clock displayed a last red sliver. All the requested attendees had arrived save one. Sirius came to the door and signalled to Arrakis to join them. She took a seat between Sirius and Mr Alden Stroud, the middle partner. As before, the senior partner assigned the reading to Algernon Stroud. The youngest partner smiled briefly at Arrakis. The Tonkses were seated between the Malfoys and the Weasleys. Draco and Ronald were glaring at each other. The twins had been sandwiched between the prefect, their mother, and their father.

The sun set. The chime rang.

“The firm of Stroud and Sons has been contracted to serve as executors of the will of the late Lucretia Prewett, née Black. I am enjoined to notify those present that the will was reviewed last night and no updates have been made since the last amendment added 1st July 1992, regarding the status of certain financial instruments. The signatures of the witnesses are available on application in the proper form.”

Arrakis fisted her black lace gloved hands at the nightmarish repetitiveness of it. Had the Strouds repeated this formula at each funeral held in the Black family for the last year? Sirius reached over and rested his hand over hers.

“’To my cousin, Narcissa Black Malfoy, I leave my favourite Russian sable great coat, with matching accessories, along with the ruby set given me by my husband on our twentieth anniversary. I direct that the estate should pay the transfer fee for the perpetual care guarantee at Burdock Furriers, or the equivalent amount to the furrier of the legatee’s choice. I make this bequest in the confidence that Narcissa will know how to appreciate a gift from a loving husband, and additionally, will wear it to its best effect.’”

Was it Arrakis’ imagination or did Narcissa’s lips tighten?

“’Before continuing to the bequest to my cousin, Draco Lucius Malfoy, I call upon Narcissa to recite the childhood poem she and her sisters once shared. That she need not summon it from memory, the text has been supplied.’”

Oyunskaya left her chair by the wall, and took the piece of paper from Alden Stroud to offer to Narcissa.

Lucius’ eyebrows raised higher as he looked at his wife. Red blotches stained her cheeks. Draco’s sidelong glance showed the whites of his eyes. Nearby, Andromeda stirred in her seat. 

Narcissa accepted the paper and glanced at it. She looked past Algernon Stroud to the senior partner. “Mr. Stroud, what is the meaning of this ridiculous charade? Why should I be called on to recite the doggerel written by my sister Bellatrix to vex us?”

“It was not authored by Bellatrix. It has been around for over a century. How your sister learnt of it I could not say. It was Mrs. Prewett’s wish that it be presented at this gathering.”

Narcissa shot a sharp glance at Andromeda, then began to read in a carefully controlled voice with little nuance.

“Once upon a time there were three little girls who wore their hair in curls.  
They slept in one big bedroom, in one big bed and they slept like the dead.  
One day one had a fever; she coughed and cried and dreamt her sisters died.  
What became of the three sisters in a bed? They never left it's said.”

She folded the paper and smoothed the crease sharp enough to cut.

“Bellatrix used to whisper it to us at night, and cough, and laugh. Is there more to this than the jibes of a child?”

Artagan Stroud answered her. Despite his advanced age, his voice was strong and assured. “It is a reference to the younger sisters of Licorus Black, the ancestor of all members of the Black family known today. The girls, Alexia Welkin, Phoebe, and Hesper, all died as children. They share a grave marker that records one date for their death. What documentation exists records that they died in a Dragon Pox epidemic. The late Arcturus Black requested my firm to engage a confidential researcher to investigate the family of that era, as he had come across rumours that their deaths were not wholly natural. 

“A review of the family ledgers indicated that Licorus’ grandfather Cepheus was a chronic and unlucky gambler. His son Leonis died young and may have committed suicide. Not long after the death of the girls, the family fortunes revived. Perhaps this was merely due to Licorus taking greater care of finances. 

“The youngest girl, Alexia, was eleven, and scheduled to go to Hogwarts that year. Her older sisters were never students at Hogwarts and it is thought that they were squibs. Squibs are less likely to die from Dragon Pox than wizards. The gossip of that time implied that when the youngest died, either Cepheus or Leonis was enraged at the thought of having to support her squib sisters, and murdered them. At that time it was the practice in the Black family to give a dowry to squib daughters so that they might be married suitably in the Muggle world.”

“I assume you have more than rumours to go on ,”Andromeda said.

“The youngest sibling was Eduardus Limette Black. He attended Hogwarts, but was disowned within a few years of graduation. We tracked him to the United States. He changed his name to Alban and established a family there. My agent contacted the descendants of the family and got permission to research their family documents. Among them was a letter from Eduardus Alban to his future wife. He relates his belief that his father either deliberately, or by neglect, caused the death of his sisters. His attempt to get the truth of the matter from his father resulted in his disowning.”

A hiss came from the Weasley seats.

“A sad story, but proof of nothing,” Narcissa remarked.

“You are quite right, Mrs. Malfoy. There is no practical legal means by which to lay attainture on a man two centuries dead. Eduardus’ words are significant only because he was a member of the family and obviously believed his father capable of the crime. What is significant is the belief of Arcturus Black, which he shared with the older members of the current family who have all this year passed.”

“My father did not speak of this to me.”

“He did not, Mrs. Malfoy, but he is signatory to a document meant to be read at this gathering. It includes the witnessed signatures of Arcturus Black, Cassiopeia Black, Cygnus Black, and Lucretia Black Prewett.”

At this point, Arrakis realised that she and Sirius were holding hands. His grip had begun to ache her, but she held back as tight as she could.

Algernon began to read from another document. “We the undersigned acknowledge the Punic curse that has taken hold of our family. We disown Leonis Betelgeuse Black as ancestor, and take Licorus Antares Black as our progenitor. We pledge to suffer the doom of early death laid upon us, in abeyance of the long lives enjoyed by wizard kind. We will not seek cures. We will not allow anodynes. We repudiate the motto ‘Toujours Pur’ and adopt in its place ‘Toujours Noir’. By our sacrifice, we lay a geas on our descendants to no longer reject children born without the gift of magic, but to cherish them and find them a place in the world. Let the madness end with our deaths. We reject it without restriction. Let those who would cling to it suffer the fate they seek.”

Narcissa and Andromeda both sagged in their seats. Their husbands supported them. Draco paled bone white. His fingers clenched around the arms of his chair. Tonks looked as if she had been dipped in ink; sat as still as an onyx statue. Even her eyes had no whites.

Sirius scooped Arrakis out of her chair and held her in the protective curve of his body. She did not feel pain, exactly, but like a plucked harp string.

Oyunskaya coaxed him to let Arrakis go. His face was wet. He fumbled his handkerchief out and dabbed at it.

Arrakis held onto her chair but did not yet sit. She felt a little dizzy, and focused on Mr. Stroud’s calm face to orient herself.

“Kreacher, please bring tea,” she requested. Refreshments had been expected to be served, so the tea trays instantly appeared by each set of seats. Arrakis took it on herself to serve the Strouds. Alden Stroud had two envelopes set out in front of him. One turned green. The other turned grey. He held it over a tray and it crumbled into powder. He brushed off his fingers.

“If any parties are not prepared to hear the rest of the bequests, please depart at this time,” said Artagan Stroud. No one moved. “Continue, please, Algernon.”

“’The bequest entrusted to me by my cousin, Cygnus Black, may at this time be delivered.’” Algernon addressed Andromeda. “My grandfather has the envelope for you, Mrs. Tonks.” Tonks got up to receive the envelope. Alden Stroud gave it up with noticeably shaky hands. The darkness was beginning to fade from her skin making her look more substantial than a shadow but still eerie. Andromeda took the envelope from her daughter but did not open it.

“There is a bequest for Mr. Neville Longbottom, but as he is not in attendance, it will be delivered to him.”

“’To Draco Lucius Malfoy, I bequeath a signed first edition of ‘The Noble Sport of Warlocks’ as a memento of the family. My grandfather left it to me that I might pass it on to a son. In this spirit, I pass it to you for your enjoyment. In addition, I leave you in trust ten thousand galleons to be placed in your control when you are eighteen years old. I advise you, but do not otherwise require you, to spend it on travelling outside of Britain for your further education in the world.’ Mr. Stroud has the book for you on his desk, in that small wooden box, Mr. Malfoy.” Algernon waited for Draco to receive his bequest.

“’To Ginevra Weasley, daughter of Arthur Weasley and his wife Molly Prewett Weasley, I bequeath my dower vault that I brought with me upon my marriage to Ignatius Prewett. It is given in trust to her parents for spending for her education, clothing, and any of her needs at their discretion. It is eligible to revert to her control on reaching the age of eighteen, but not until she has completed a course in financial management. It is my wish to leave this to a Prewett daughter.’”

“Oh,” said the Weasley girl, looking dazed. Her mother was beaming. The Weasley sons sat up.

“To the eldest Weasley son willing to change his name to Prewett, I revert the rights to the name and the Prewett properties I inherited from my husband Ignatius. These shall be held in trust if the inheritor is underage, and when of age, the inheritor must complete training in financial management and legislative affairs. The sons shall have the right of refusal in order of their birth age, from the oldest to the youngest. This reversion applies to all assets of the state not further named.

Alden Stroud was arranging yet more well stuffed envelopes on his desk.

“’Having sole authority over the estate of my late husband, I apportioned thirty percent of his liquid assets to trust vaults to be assigned to the following: Molly Prewett Weasley and each of her sons William, Charles, Percival, George, Frederick, and Ronald who do not accept the Prewett legacy. For the sons, these trust vaults will be under their control once they have reached the age of eighteen and completed a course in financial management. Until then, the assets can be drawn upon for the immediate needs of the underage legatees. The trustee of these vaults for legatees not of age shall be the son who claims the Prewett legacy, or failing this stricture, Mr. Arthur Weasley. The remainder of these liquid assets remain with the estate. If the estate legacy is not claimed, all properties are to be liquidated and the proceeds awarded to charities listed in the appendix of this will.’”

Molly Weasley burst into tears. Arthur Weasley sent Ronald to get the envelopes from Alden Stroud. The boy’s face was so pale that the freckles stood out like ink dots.

“’Upon the occasion of our marriage, my husband settled property on me to provide an independent income. This income has been kept separate from the Prewett Estate, as well as from my dower vault. It does not include my widow’s jointure, which reverts to the Prewett estate. It includes all my personal belongings of value, with the exceptions noted further.’

“’From the vault assigned to this income, I bequeath to Miss Zoya Oyunskaya, trusted companion and vassal of House Black, property with an income of approximately five thousand galleons yearly. In addition, I bequeath her the chest in this vault marked with her name, that contains a few trinkets and mementos, most notably my collection of signed artist photo portraits.’

“’To Miss Nymphadora Tonks, in recognition of her splendid magical talent, I bequeath fifty thousand galleons outright with this message: you spoke truly that night.’

“To Sirius Black, I leave my personal library of books, which have been collected together and catalogued for him to keep for his own use, add to the family library, or discard as he pleases.”

“’All remaining assets of this vault are bequeathed to my dear ward, Arrakis Marguerite Black.’”

Algernon closed the document. “That completes the reading of the will. The envelopes provided you contains the keys to the various trust vaults, financial statements of their contents, and a reminder of the regulations and practises of Gringotts bank.”

Lucius Malfoy sneered in the direction of the Weasleys. Whatever unpleasant remark he was planning was forestalled by his wife. “Lucius, I wish to pay my respects to Mrs. Prewett then return home immediately.” There was a ragged edge to Narcissa’s voice that made her sound nothing like a marble statue. Arrakis returned to the bier and stood by it to receive those paying respects. She still had that sounded harp-string feeling and did not know what to do with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My understanding is that generally there is no such thing as a formal reading of the will. However, I cannot see a bunch of drama queens like the Black family (or other wizarding families) giving up the opportunity to have a few last words from beyond the grave. Arcturus Black has been one busy bee of a corpse.
> 
> I wrote out what I could find of the Black family tree. I think Rowling may have forgotten about wizards living longer. I dunno. I looked at the dead and disowned, and wondered what the head of the Black family would think. They look rather like the family of the Caesars, whose name became synonymous with a ruling title after the family had fallen in blood and madness.
> 
> And look, rich Weasleys! Draco will need to adjust his insults.


	10. Chapter 10

Sirius and Oyunskaya stayed up with her all night. No visitors came other than the ones who had come for the reading of the will, but owls came with deliveries of flowers. They arranged them together.

As she had done for Arcturus, Arrakis made a dance of tending the candles. Each time she trimmed a wick and re-lit a flame, the warmth of the fire found an answering spark in her.

By morning she was exhausted and her eyes were sore. Lucretia was laid to rest next to her husband. The headstone was dual. Her name was freshly carved. Sirius led her away from the grave. Her legs were strong, but the rest of her body felt weak.

“Uncle Sirius, what is the Pewnic Curse?”

“It’s from Roman history. Punic refers to the Phoenician people who settled in the city of Carthage. Maybe you’ve heard of the witch Dido, who when told she could claim as much territory as a cowhide could cover, cut the hide into fine strips and made a circle around a hill. If you ever take Arithmancy, you’ll hear about her. That hill became Carthage. It was a wealthy city and the rival of Rome. There were a series of wars between them. It is said the Romans violated the oaths they’d made at the conclusion of the next-to-last war. When they destroyed Carthage, they sowed the land with salt so the city could not rise again. Thereafter, Rome became the most wealthy and powerful nation in the west. Supposedly the Punic Curse meant they were corrupted by their pursuit of wealth and power over honour, and this was the downfall of the Roman empire.”

She stopped and stared at him. “But is it a real curse? And our family….?”

“Come with me.” He led Arrakis over to the Black family plot. In a corner of it was a tombstone, wide and low, with a cluster of animal shapes on top and three weather worn names. The grass had been recently mowed and daisies planted around the stone.

Arrakis felt a chill, looking at it. “What is that meant to be, on top?”

“Puppies. For a child burial.” Sirius put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned into his side. “Leonis was never head of the family. He died before his father. No one knows the truth of what happened then, but last night, when the pledge was read, it shook me. You felt it too, right?” 

She nodded.

“This morning I had word from Azkaban. Bellatrix Lestrange is dead. She…well, you don’t need to know how, but she had a fit and caused so much damage to herself that she died of her wounds.

“Cepheus let his grandson Licorus step up to be head of the family. By all accounts that have come down to us, he was a solid family man and the Blacks prospered under his care in wealth, social rank, and political power. They also became more haughty, more invested in blood purity and the accumulation of wealth and luxury.” He laughed. “The look on Lucius Malfoy’s face when the Weasley clan got the Prewett inheritance. I’ll treasure that.”

“What was that about the coat? Aunt Lucretia’s sable and her rubies are very valuable.”

“I’m not sure, kiddo. I don’t know what the Malfoys’ relationship is like. Mrs. Prewett did make a point in her will of pointing out how she had money and property in her own name and under her sole control. Maybe she felt Cissy isn’t getting her due.”

Arrakis boggled at the idea of calling elegant Narcissa Malfoy ‘Cissy’. “Do they know? About their sister?”

“I owled them after I got the news.”

They returned to Grimmauld Place. Arrakis was nearly asleep on her feet and glad for Sirius’ firm grip on her elbow.

“Sirius. Sirius.” The woman’s voice was soft. It came from nearby but sounded like the speaker was moving away.

Sirius stopped dead in his tracks. “Mother.”

Arrakis lifted her weary head. The curtains on Mother Black’s portrait drew aside. She was used to Walburga’s proud features, but now they had altered like a wax bust under a summer sun.

“When you were born, I was so proud. You showed signs of magic before you could talk. I had such dreams for you.”

“Nightmares,” Sirius growled.

“I was a bad mother, Sirius. To you and poor lost Regulus. I hope I did not do so ill by you, Arrakis. This fragment of a person cannot ask your forgiveness. If you find it, give it for your own sake, not for mine. I am withdrawing. If you’d be so kind, hang me next to your father in the attic storage. Good-bye, children.” Walburga held her painted wand up and snapped it in two. The animation left the portrait and it returned to the static image.

Sirius dropped her hand and bolted for the stairs. It took a moment for Arrakis to get her wits back and follow. She could hear him shouting at someone.

“—a headmaster. I am master of this house and head of this family. I bind you to speak nothing of family business to anyone, not to Dumbledore or any other headmaster of Hogwarts.”

Sirius stepped out of the library and closed the door behind him. Oyunskaya came down the stairs. “There. Kiddo, you look worn to the bone. Miss Oyunskaya, she should go to bed, shouldn’t she?”

“So should you,” Arrakis grumped.

“Can’t, kiddo, things to do, people to see. I’ll try to take a nap this afternoon. Would you like to move back to Black Manor for the rest of the summer?”

“Yes, please.” She felt a sudden longing to be out of the house.

“I’ll arrange it as soon as I can. The business I have to do is more convenient from here.”

  
The sound of Sirius’ raised voice drew her. He sounded angry, reminding her of his mother in a temper.

“—objects, all of them.”

A voice answered—Kreacher? Yes.

“ I don’t want to knock this house to the ground to get rid of the taint, but if I have to, I will, and you with it.”

“Master knows best, even when he made his own mother cry.”

The sound of a blow, of something soft hitting something hard.

“Curse it, Krea—”

Arrakis sped into the room and flung herself over Kreacher. “No! Don’t hurt him.” She wrapped her arms around the spindly body and clung to the house-elf. Sobs vomited up from her diaphragm. Her tear ducts burned.

“…do you want clothes… oh, kiddo.”

Kreacher flinched under her and a sound exploded out of her body. A high-pitched, wretched, wracked, ruin of a sound. Face hidden against Kreacher’s bald skull, she rocked back and forth. The sound erupted from her again, faded as she lost the strength to sustain it.

“Arrakis, I won’t hurt him, I promise. Just let go.”

She shied away when he tried to stroke her back.

“You’re getting him all snotty. Heh.”

She continued to hate the world that took everything from her.

“I’m not sure he can breathe.” 

A hand plucked at her elbow. She held on harder.

“Oh, shite.” He sighed. Something hot and wet licked at the side of her head. A doggy whimper nagged her ear.

The visceral discomfort of being slobbered on made her try to push the dog’s head away. Like the sneak he was, Sirius swiftly changed back and pulled her into his lap while Kreacher wriggled free.

“Kreacher, I’m assigning you to Arrakis Marguerite Black permanently. She is your mistress; no member of this family except her can dismiss you from service.”

“Kreacher is always loyal to Miss Black,” the old elf quavered.

“Please bring your mistress a Calming potion. Bring two while you’re at it. And I think she could use a cup of cocoa and a face flannel.”

Her eyes were cried out, sore and parched. The sobs still shook her. It was easy to hide her face against Sirius’ shoulder. Her throat was sore, too.

“So this is the only parenting training I’ve had. When you cried, James or Lily would pick you up and hold you and pat your back. Maybe then all your problems could be solved by that and a fresh nappy or a cold teething ring. I don’t know how to fix big girl problems. But when you cry, I bleed. This old dog only has so much blood in him, kiddo.”

A Calming potion, a cocoa, and a nap later, Arrakis felt less bad. ‘Better’ was an adjective too far. On top of her general misery, the crying jag had scared her with how out of control she was.

Oyunskaya fetched her. “We have work to do. Put your hair up out of the way. Don’t worry about your face; we’re not going out.”

Arrakis did her hair in a bun. It only took a few steps to realise where they were going. Aunt Lucretia’s room lay quiet and hotel tidy, as if she’d packed to be away for a few days.

“We are going to inventory Mrs. Prewett’s belongings. Everything here is yours now to dispose of. We are certainly not going to keep her knickers.”

That surprised a giggle out of her. She felt awful. It was too soon for giggles.

Oyunskaya answered with a small smile. “Let us start with the gowns. Your aunt had fine taste and many beautiful robes. My advice is that we should pick the best to keep, and one or two for sentiment. If you want to do other than Vanish them, we could donate some to a theatre to use for costumes. If they were my clothes, I would prefer that. It seems a shame to simply unmake such fine craftsmanship. There is always need for an actress to portray a fine lady.”

The wardrobe had an extension feature with a dial to bring forth different sets of clothing. Many of the dresses were stored with matching shoes and gloves. Oyunskaya gave a cry of delight at the sight of three small boxes. She picked one up and turned it over, muttering in Russian. “Da, da… yes. Fortuny. Three Fortunys. Ah, what a woman. These are keepers, Arrashka.”

“Madame, I have no idea what you mean.”

“He was a designer famous for his pleated dresses. I don’t want to open the sealed boxes, the dresses will keep in there.” She took a dress storage bag and Transfigured it into a swath of beaded peach silk in fine pleats so that it swished most temptingly over her arm. “This will give you some idea.”

“Ooo.”

“Ooo, indeed. One of these, you will wear, and you will bewitch all who see you.”

The gowns were not hard to deal with except for the few she was familiar with. She kept the Paris gown for sentiment, a selection to wear that might suit her some day, and pressed a couple on Oyunskaya.

“I wonder if there’s anything Ginevra Weasley would like. I don’t have any idea what figure she will have as an adult. Her mother is rather plump, but after seven children that is to be expected.”

“She might like a nightgown and negligée set. When Mrs. Prewett was a bride, the fine clothes they bought lasted a long time if properly cared for. I bet we can find something she kept from her trousseau. But she cannot have a Fortuny unless she has the figure for it. It could not be borne.”

At last they settled on a pair of lacy shawls, one in ivory with a row of seed pearls, and the other a jet black evening wrap.

Arrakis could not bear to look at the every day clothes. “Banish them,” she requested. “Let us be done for the day. That is all the clothes, yes?”

“Yes. That leaves her books and knick-knacks. Tomorrow will do for those.” They took a walk. Grimmauld Place was no longer the elegant address that it had been when the Blacks built their house, but it was near still wealthy neighbourhoods that were pleasant to walk through. The world went on around them whether they stopped or ran.

Arrakis looked over her laid out clothes. She had to pack for Black Manor, and for school. Her ballet gear had its own bag, that had its own compartment in her school trunk. That was always ready, but she checked it to be sure that the sewing kit was with it. It was. All of that was neat and complete and done with. So was her Quidditch gear, including the new custom goggles.

This morning, after breakfast, she’d gone up the stairs and automatically turned towards Aunt Lucretia’s room. Three steps later she’d seen the open door. The present overlaid the past like the first snowfall over the dead leaves in the garden. Every day would bury it deeper.

That old top was getting worn. Kreacher had tried to do away with it twice now. The design of green ivy leaves brought out the green in her eyes. Aunt Lucretia had always said so. But the thing was, it was just too small. The last spell to increase its size had made the fabric weaker. She would never fit into it again.

She held it up to her chest and looked in the mirror. It did bring out her eyes. She blotted her face with the clean soft cotton and put it aside in the discard pile.

When she turned, Kreacher was there. “Is something wrong?” she asked him.

“Little Mistress. Mistress. Kreacher is being your elf now.”

“That’s right. Has Uncle Sirius been shouting at you again?” _He’d better not_.

“Not today,” the old elf smirked. Any trace of a smile left him. Once, the old Mistress Black, she assigned Kreacher to young Master Regulus.” He shuddered. “Master Regulus was a good master. Kreacher is a loyal elf.”

Arrakis had heard this sort of thing before from Kreacher, especially when Sirius was around to hear. Why, now? Was Kreacher suffering from conflicting loyalties? “Kreacher, did Mother Black have some order for you that you have been following?”

Kreacher’s face wrinkled up like a raisin, squeezing tears from his big eyes. “Young Master Regulus. Kreacher has tried. Kreacher cannot do it.”

“Can you tell—no, wait.” Arrakis drew on memories of Walburga Black. The woman had projected a mien of absolute authority. She might be twelve, but she was Miss Black of 12 Grimmauld Place and Black Manor, co-heir with Sirius Orion Black, head of the family. Kreacher was her elf.

“Tell me what Regulus ordered you to do. If it does not dishonour the family, for Walburga Black’s sake I will see it done.” There was power in her voice beyond her hope of it. She held onto that feeling with all her might as Kreacher sobbed out a tale about Voldemort, a cave, a basin, and a locket. The locket was in a curio cabinet in the locked drawing room. No magic of Kreacher’s could affect it, try as he would to destroy it.

She hoped the lock was strong.

Sirius was distracted from his plans of renovating the house by a visitor. He called Arrakis down to meet his old school friend, Remus Lupin. Lupin was nothing like Arrakis had expected. He looked years older than Sirius. His scarred face was as thin and worn as his clothes. They were of good quality, but he gave the impression of only replacing them when they were damaged. From the tale of Pettigrew’s capture she’d expected someone of Sirius’ swashbuckling mien. Lupin had brown hair and brown eyes and carried himself with reserve. She could imagine him slipping through a crowd quite unnoticed.

When her eyes met his, something sparked in his eyes and pushed his lips into a smile. “She does look like James,” he said wonderingly. “As I first met him at Hogwarts.”

Sirius patted his shoulder. “Hopefully she will look more like Lily as she ages. It’s a little disturbing sometimes to see James in drag.” He blinked at her unrepentantly and she gave him the satisfaction of an indignant hair toss. “Now, that was pure Lily, just with black hair instead of red.”

“Uncle Sirius, you are ridiculous,” she said, and summoned up her best Lucretian repressive stare. He simply beamed at her.

“Miss Black, Sirius has invited me to stay a few days at Black Manor. Perhaps I could tell you some tales of your mother. I’m sure Sirius has had plenty to say about your father.”

“I would like that.”

“So formal. You used to call him ‘Moony’,” Sirius grumbled.

“It was more like ‘Mooey’. You were very small.” Pain settled into his expression as if coming home.

Mr. Lupin’s manners were excellent: quiet and gentlemanly. She rather envied Sirius’ careless elegance and wondered how he had attained it under Mother Black’s instruction. Lupin fit in well, because he never presumed. Nor did he ever treat Arrakis like ‘The Girl Who Lived’ or ‘The Girl Who Was Really Harriet.’ He and her mother had often been study partners and he could tell Arrakis where Lily had been talented, and where she had struggled. It was easy to talk to him about school. Sirius was intelligent, and would help if she asked, but certain subjects unmistakably bored him and he would droop and his grey eyes would look like a sad dog’s.

One day she brought them a subject that would interest them both. She told them about the locket, holding onto Sirius’ hand to keep him from Apparating away. “It’s been locked in there for years. It’s why the drawing room is locked up, isn’t it? Who locked it up?”

Sirius tapped his foot. “Arcturus, I’d bet. That old fox. And Stroud, that other old fox. Said we had business to go over. I can’t believe any solicitor’s office investigator found dirt on You-Know-Who. The family pays a fat fee to have Artagan Stroud himself on call. All right. Arrakis, I won’t change anything at Grimmauld Place until I’ve looked over everything Grandfather left. Or maybe there’s something in that book collection Mrs. Prewett left.” He glanced at Lupin. “I could turn that over to you, Moony. You could use some indoor hobbies.”

Lupin’s golden-brown eyes turned to Arrakis. “I don’t know if Sirius has told you, but it was Arcturus Black who hired me to look for Pettigrew. He thought it was suspicious that Sirius went to Azkaban without a trial. I still think it was some penny-pincher who figured that as you’d confessed it would save the Ministry the expense of a trial. Is my assistance welcome to you, Miss Black?”

She hesitated, reaching for words, and something in his face guarded itself. She put out a hand. “Friends are welcome, always.”

They shook hands. The grip was broken by the romping of a big black dog. His black tail wagged like a friendly club. Arrakis and Lupin exchanged fondly exasperated glances. She sensed there would be a lot of those.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot keeps happening, doesn't it? Writing this story was useful to me to get more acquainted with this version of Harry. Arrakis is a little spoiled and privileged at the same time as being in a bad situation. She needs some therapy for the Quirrell thing. Her mother is dead. She has adults to look after her, but the parental role is new to them. But be fair... the first pair couldn't stop Voldemort either. Lily just slowed him down.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is not particularly plotty. It only extends over the summer, as I have a lot of ideas for the second year at Hogwarts. It is complete as a story, and there are revelations. Well, I think they are, maybe they are obvious to all of you!


End file.
